I am grateful for the childhood I had.  I was raised in Brooklyn, New York.  A city upbringing has its drawbacks, but it also had many advantages.  We weren't poor.  There was food on the table and a roof over our heads, but there were not a lot of extras.   Hand-me-down clothes and toys were the rule.  I did go to parochial school, so my uniform saved me from being ridiculed about clothes that didn't quite fit and were past their prime.  On the other hand, my folks were never in debt.  They did not spend what they did not have.  That fact made them comfortable and therefore I was secure.  

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I dream quite often.  Sometimes I can remember them vividly, sometimes I can remember them when I awake, but the memory fades quickly.   Other times there is a ghost of a memory and then there are the ones that leave me knowing there was a dream, but with no memory of the events at all.   I have had dreams of flying, falling, being naked in public, being chased, and ones where the fantasy repeats nightly for a while or just every now and then.  I have had deja-vu dreams where the dream is original, but I feel I have been there before.  On rare occasions, I have a nightmare.  When I am ill, my dreams can be disturbing.  My favorites are those where someone from my past stars in the events.  It always feels like a visit.  

From time to time I can connect the scenarios to life events and other times not so much.  Occasionally I fall asleep with the tv on and some of the fantasies the background noise evokes are wild, usually fun, but wild.

I've thought about keeping a notepad by the bed, but honestly I haven't the drive to write when I open my eyes.  I've tried and failed.  When I wake up, I do review the involuntary images/stories in my mind.  It is usually entertaining.

I've read some of the material on deciphering dreams, but I don't buy most of it.  I think the meanings are particular to the individual.

I know that dreamless nights are the most refreshing, but to me they are disappointing as well.  I am blessed with sleep. It comes to me easily.  When I set my head on the pillow, and let the weariness of the day melt into the mattress, it is the start of an adventure.  

Do you dream? 

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When the fog surrounding the death of a spouse finally lifts, there are practical problems to be addressed.  There is a new social and financial reality.  There are mundane problems such as home upkeep and repairs.  I have walked this road for almost seven years and have emerged, whole for the most part.

My husband was the resident repair person in our home.   Anything that required entry into the crawl space under half the house was his job. It is an area I avoid entering at all costs.  It is quite uncomfortable for me as I am tall and a bit claustrophobic.  Back in the day the crawl space flooded and leaked into the living area of the basement with every major storm.  When we gathered the resources, we had a french drain cut into the crawl space.   Essentially, it is a 40 foot trench filled with gravel or rock or containing a perforated pipe that redirects water to a well in which a pump is installed which sends the water to a similar system outside the house and thus the problem was solved. I understood the concept of it, but once the problem was solved, I never gave it much thought.  It worked quite efficiently for 30+ years. A year ago, the pump quit and although I did not get flooded, I got seriously puddled.  It was time to learn mechanics of the system.   Since my aging ego refuses let me be helpless, I swallowed my discomfort and I went deep into the crawl space to inspect the problem.  I discovered the well cover was dislodged, and debris had caused the pump to burn out.  Professional assistance was required.  The workmen cleared the trench and the well, put in a new pump and a back up pump, and secured the well cover.   I once again went into the crawl space to give the work a thorough inspection.  I noticed a not-so-well done cement patch and thought I would be lodging a complaint.  When I got closer, I saw it had been repaired many, many years before by my husband. Some of his repairs, although successful, were not pretty.  In the crudely applied cement was carved a heart with our initials.  Guess that cement was pretty well done after all.  I still avoid the crawl space, but the memory of the cement patch still gives me the warm and fuzzies.

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I am emboldened by Judd 101 to send out my ghost story.  My husband passed six years ago, his name was Melvin.  One evening about three yeas ago while using my laptop my wifi quit.  I wanted to restart it and opened the box which shows available networks.  Lynksys was the name of my household network.  When I opened the box it said "Lynksys" and "Melvin" were available.  I was taken back for a moment and then decided it must belong to one of my neighbors.  I got back on line.  About a minute later, the wifi quit again.  I opened the available networks box and it said "Lynksys", "Melvin" and "Buffalo".  Buffalo was my husband's password for everything.  Seriously, what are the odds?  

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On January 2 of this year, I visited my local chain drug store in a strip mall.  I spent time checking out the Christmas left overs, looked over some lipsticks and nail polish and finally took my non-glamorous insoles to the counter.  When I left the store, a woman and her teenage son were standing next to my car looking a bit apprehensive.  She had quite substantially side-swiped my car pulling into the parking space next to mine.  She waited for me probably 10-15 minutes.   I have passed the time in my life when I sweat the small stuff.  My thinking is no one was hurt and the rest is just bent metal (or cracked plastic in this case) and the car was driveable.  We exchanged information by photographing papers (don'tcha love technology) she apologized and I thanked her for waiting for me.  What a great example she set for her son.  Anyway...car heads for the shop today.  Fender-bender damage $2300.00 + car rental.  That was the bad news/good news start to my year.  Of course, I'm not happy for the inconvenience of the incident, but I had my faith in my fellow drivers somewhat restored.  

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I miss things being repaired.  I liked it when things got a new lease on usefulness.  It was nice when people bragged about how old something was rather than what they got new. Remember  having shoes heeled and soled and getting them back with a professional shine?  How about the tv repairman coming to the house and he sat down for a cup of coffee? Did you have knives sharpened or rehandled, cushions reupholstered, patches on your jeans?  

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Remember when Cabbage Patch Kids were the Must Have on Christmas? Santa delivered one to to my youngest granddaughter, Mia (4). We were explaining about the adoption and she decided not to adopt her CPK mostly because her older brother, Mickey said the doll was creepy. (Gotta admit they do have a creep factor.) My generous oldest granddaughter, Maggie (7) adopted the CPK, papers and all and was sworn in as the new parent. Mia then wanted to be sworn in as the Big Sister. So be it. It was all summed up the morning after Christmas when Mia told us she was the Big Sister to the Savage Patch Kid. I guess they've lost some of their charm.

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