Elk Rapids, Michigan, January 2019. My dad’s present house sits very close to where my family’s blacksmith shop once stood in 1880. The village took down most of the old trees which hurt and makes the house look naked. The third picture is a view of the bay which sits between the Town Hall and that pine tree there, barely visible in the snow and fog.
My family in the old days. Boat captains and dray masters. We got people around. Snowy days like these make me nostalgic.
Food: my fast day. I’ve noticed since adding in a few veggies I need fast days again to give my system a rest. After I have my cholesterol checked the end of February, I may do a month here and there of Carnivore again.
Dreams: Wow. Some success at last:
I am with some man I don’t recognize, and I have inherited a lot of money. I am not sure why since my father is still alive. But this guy wants me to be sure I can access my trust. He isn’t an attorney, but someone who wants to help spend it. Then there is a woman who tells me she has helped herself to some plants from my garden—as if everybody just digs up other people’s plants. I smile but tell her she needs more than rocks around those roots, since she has them in a wheel barrow. “They’ll die,” I tell her. “Even in all this rain?” the woman answers. I remember thinking I hope I have enough left of each variety in my own garden, but want her to have them. Then I am at a doctor’s office and I have to use the bathroom so badly—apparently there is no public restroom—that I throw a woman out of an exam room who is already in a gown and on an exam table, actually in some stirrups. The woman looks annoyed but leaves. I can’t seem to go to the bathroom and I don’t even seem to be IN a bathroom, but I know everyone is waiting—something that used to happen to me in public places as a child. If it were quiet or somebody was out there waiting for me, I couldn’t go. Bashful kidneys. I look over and my mother is sitting there in one of the chairs with me. (Finally.) “It’s ok,” she says. “Go ahead,” she says encouragingly. And then she is gone. She looked as she did later in life, heavier, but comforting. She had a white blouse on of some kind, the cotton Native American type she used to wear, and some kind of dark pants. I don’t have a chance to say a word to her or ask her anything. Then I am suddenly famous for something, maybe singing, I’m not sure, and I am at a bar. I am trying to get the door to close and latch to keep out the crowd trying to get to me, but it won’t latch. I slam it over and over. I turn around and see Penny Marshall sitting there at one of the tables, waiting to see me or talk to me, in a dress, with sleeves to her mid-arm. She lifts her arm and a bare breast hangs down from her upper arm. Since she’s dead, this is definitely a clue that I’m dreaming. But try as I might, I can’t get Mom to come back…
This is more typical of my strange dreams. Lucid dreaming IS working because I hadn’t remembered a dream of my mother in years. I’ve had two dreams I couldn’t remember but knew she was there, and now one I clearly saw her and she said something. She wasn’t there long, though! Still, it was good to see her.