My Mother's Chair

Last night, I dreamed I was sitting in my mother’s chair.  The one in which she sat during the day and drank her coffee and smoked her cigarettes.  The wooden chair at the kitchen table where she could look out the window at the goings on of the neighbourhood.  I dreamed I was sitting in that chair, seeing from her eyes. 

It was an odd dream.  I remember the kitchen well.  Small with a cube freezer sitting in the corner by the wall telephone.  She would put knick-knacks on top for a bit of decoration.  The table sat in the centre of the window and the refrigerator and stove sat to the left, the sink and counter across from the appliances.  It was small but big enough. 

I had lived there all my life.  The little townhouse in the back of the row of townhouses, hidden from plain view of the parking lot.  The window sat facing a brick wall from the adjacent row, but if she sat diagonally to the window, she could see up the small sidewalk.  She could see who was walking towards our door as we were the last row house on the end.  One couldn’t go any further.  There was a fence that blocked foot traffic from treading past our place to the side of our townhouse where there was a green space.  It led to another parking area for the duplex units situated there.  That’s where we would play tag and red rover until well after dark. 

The dream was as dreams usually go.  Brief, milky and hauntingly real.  I was sitting in the chair, looking out the window at the grey sky.  I could see the parking lot and the cars idly parked.  I looked around the empty kitchen and remember seeing the small curtains on the window.  At one point I got up and went to the sink.  There was water in it with dishes floating around waiting to be washed.  Instead of getting at them, I just looked and decided to go back and sit in the chair.  Even dreaming, I’m too lazy to do up a few dishes.

It was unsettling sitting in my mother’s chair.  She’s been gone eight years now and I can still hear her in my ear.  Especially when I’m talking to one of my not-so-much-a-kid-anymore kids.  Funny how now, I go back to that old town house to look out the window.  I sit at the old kitchen table in the precarious wooden chair.  I see what she may have seen.  A neighbourhood full of families and children.  Green grass in the summer with her marigolds sprouting from the garden.  The old fence a good backdrop for her tomatoes and morning glories.  The sprinklers spraying in the searing summer sun.  The lamp post on the corner beaten by hands of kids using it as a base for hide and seek.  I wonder what she may have thought as she sat drinking her coffee and smoking her cigarettes.  Would she have thought we would have made it out into the big bad world to have kids of our own and sit in chairs that belong to us?  Would we be sitting drinking our coffee looking out at our neighbourhoods wishing the same for our kids?

Maybe.  My life is very different than my mother’s.  My chair is a little sturdier and my behind a little larger (hence the sturdier chair), but I think we share the same hope for our children; that they will have a chair in which to sit, a cup to drink their coffee and a window for which to look out at their neighbourhoods to hear the children, see the flowers and wonder about the future. 

Top Ten Reasons People Think I Have Issues

I thought of this post at exactly 3:25am whilst taking the dog out to pee and upon returning to bed, realizing I was completely awake.  Had I not been so lazy, I would have written the post as it happened in my head, but writing at 3:30 in the morning is not my thing.  So I willed myself to remember at least a few of the points so I could amaze and delight you with it now.  I remembered exactly two…the rest I’ve made up hoping they are as funny now as they seemed to me at 3:30 in the fucking morning…I’m hilarious in the middle of the night.

I have strange dreams that I insist on detailing to Hubby, like the time I dreamed there were elephants wandering around in Churchill Square and we should go down and see the baby elephants as they were especially cute…

I refuse to lend any participation in the silly notion that my attendance to any academic institution’s so-called ‘curriculum night’ is deathly important and if I do not attend, I would be considered a ‘bad parent’. The last time I attended one such event, it was in 2009/2010 or thereabouts and I got lost during the whole “okay, do what your kid would do and go to all of her classes”, and just gave up and went home. And had wine, which is a much better option if I do say so myself…

I drink wine and talk about it…a lot. So? Wine.I am impatient when I drive and complain constantly about it and the dumb-dumb in front of me is driving under 90km ON THE HIGHWAY and it’s a nice dry day…which is rare, but still. You would think he could see me in his rearview mirror as I make face like this:  Diaz Bad teacher

Apparently, he does not bend to driver pressure…GOOD FOR YOU, BUDDY.  SAY NO TO BULLYING…

I can’t decide at what temperature I am comfortable and get greatly distressed by others who find it perfectly perfect all of the time…IT’S NOT PERFECTLY PERFECT!  IT’S BLESSED HOT AND COLD AT THE SAME TIME AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR.  I need layers…and a blanket…and an ice pack.  Wine.  I need wine

I can’t make a decision. I think…wait.  Maybe not, the other day I decided to wear a dress, but then it looked like it would rain so I decided to change into jeans.  I then questioned my decision when the sun came out later that day…so, basically I decided to be flexible in my wardrobe choices and DECIDED to lament about them regularly.  I decisioned the shit out of that!

I send random emails to all the ladies in the ‘hood every week to let them know I’m still alive and to induce voluminous chatter about nothing in particular because I’m a badass, ‘yo…or incredibly bored…or both. And they actually lead me to believe they read the emails diligently and appreciate my sarcasm and blatant disregard for politeness and etiquette…that’s true friendship…

I tell my kids that no one will ever like them as much as I do and they need to honour my memory when I die with flowers and written effigies of affection…to which they roll their eyes and say “Yeah, okay. Whatever that means” They truly love me.

I continue to harbor a deep desire to acquire a zombie gnome and decorate my front lawn with it…or several…and perhaps spread the joy and put one on the lawn across the street…I could scare the shit out of Cuddles the cat…hmmm….

Sometimes, I get a little sweary…like when I drive… or had some wine (not at the same time)…or when I walk…run…trip over concrete barriers THAT SHOULD NOT BE THERE…am forced on a ski lift/chair lift/death ride from hell…am denied morning coffee…just sat through an hour of ‘blah, blah, as a parent you should assist your child with homework, blah, blah, blah’…can’t find the chocolate I hid yesterday…forced to speak to anyone at Bell (that includes Daughter when she tries to tell me something that makes total sense to her because she has swallowed the Bell- Koolaid, but to totally rational adults like me, it’s complete asshattery designed to confuse and disorient and then take all your money…sorta like the bank on acid).

There you have it.  You would think I have issues, but really I don’t…really.

Hand over the chocolate.

And wine.

Fart Dreams. What Else Is There?

The voices in my head that reverberate incessantly are retaliating in the most resourceful way they can by imposing the oddest dreams imaginable during my REM or whatever it’s called, sleep.  Last night I dreamt about snot and farts.  No really.  The epitome of class and the higher echelons of elegance.  Snot and farts.  My dreams are awesome. 

At one point in the dream, I had a huge booger that was in my nose and the only way to extract it was with tweezers.  When I did, it was a green ball with spikes. Not that I usually pick my nose…or use tweezers for that purpose.  BUT A SNOT BALL WITH SPIKES?!  Who dreams up that shit?  Apparently, I do.  Twelve year old boys everywhere want me as their mom. 

Later in my dream I am participating in a ritual dance of sorts where I am prancing and flailing around as if to dance in procession when suddenly “SQQQQUUUUUEEEEETTTTTT” goes my ass in rhythm to the music.  I stop.  The AUDIENCE, yes, AUDIENCE, withdraws into silent disgust in my abhorrent display of gassiness.  With little choice but to look elsewhere in bewilderment as to the source of the fart, I blame it on a young faceless girl behind me.  “Oh, no that was all you princess” somebody said…I turn to a giggling audience and walk silently offstage, the blond girl following haplessly behind me only to hear, once again a “SSSQQQQUUUUEEEETTTT”.  That was her and I look appalled and not at all impressed that she had the absolute gall to copy me.  I am mortified that she just farted in front of MY AUDIENCE.  Wait…didn’t I just do that?  Yeah, but it’s okay for me.  I was dancing.  Totally justified.  And maybe a little fucked. up.

I’m not entirely sure why these dreams are haunting me in a most peculiar way.  There were other nuances to the dream that I can’t describe just for the mere fact they were so bizarre that I probably would not be able to do them justice.  I mean, when one dreams of spiked snot balls…it’s all a little weird isn’t it?

I’ve had weird dreams that involve people that have been dead for years.  The creepiest one was the other night.  I dreamt I was at my brother’s funeral again. He died in 1986 in a motorcycle accident.  I dreamt that I was at his funeral, but it wasn’t HIS  funeral.  it was different with different people and my boss was there.  There was nowhere for family to sit as our seats were taken and I kept saying “This isn’t my brother’s funeral. That was a long time ago.  This isn’t it” and then the dream ended.  I found out last week, one of the DH lady’s cousin died tragically in a motorcycle accident the day after I had that dream.   Kinda creepy, huh?  As I learned more about him, he closely mirrored my brother….

So, I’m hoping my dream tonight isn’t a tragic one.  I’ll also take one without the spikey snot balls and farts, thank you very much. Maybe one involving Johnny Depp and chocolate???  Hmmm….

 

My sign...notice the decorative heart and flowers...I think Hubby should rethink his position on this.  It's awesome

What I said after all my dreaming…