No
sign of rain this evening, although “pop-up thunderstorms” are possible,
according to the TV weathermen. Yesterday I had no idea it might rain—first brief
shower came while I was napping. But then, when Jordan and I prepared to sit on
the patio with wine, the world darkened, and the gods began their bowling. Didn’t
see lightning, but the thunder was fierce. It scares Sophie, and she takes it
out with sudden, ferocious barking. We had two good, heavy rains.
I just
had new grass put down in the backyard—it’s not a large lawn, because much of
it is in ground cover and patio, but it was more than enough to challenge my
pocketbook. The lawn care crew put down zoysia sod Thursday, with directions to
water daily, twice daily if needed. So the heavy rain was a blessing.
I have
a bit under the weather, and that’s frightening in this time of COVID. Mostly stomach
issues, which led me to believe that it was a virus of some sort. But at three
o’clock in the morning, it’s so easy to imagine yourself into all the symptoms
of COVID. I did have a rash on my leg and other symptoms that could have been
it but weren’t—no sore throat, no unusual cough (I always cough a bit from
blood pressure medication), no fever. Still I felt I had to ask my doctor, even
though I felt a little foolish. He was kind and gentle, assured me it was a
transitory virus, unrelated, and since I was a little better each day, I am not
communicable. I love being able to “talk” with my doctor via email—one of the
great perks of modern medicine.
So
tonight with my stomach feeling better, I’m going to test it. Jordan has gone
for a weekend with her high school girl friends to a rental house in Blanco, so
I am alone with Christian and Jacob. I will give them hot dogs, baked beans,
and the potato salad I made a couple of days ago. A real Fourth of July picnic
meal, only eaten inside. It’s pretty steamy outside, and we have a bad fly
problem on the patio. Christian is enthusiastic tonight about some non-toxic
fly traps that are found on Amazon.
Back
to that problem of imagination. I am capable of all kinds of wild thoughts at
three in the morning. When we first went into this corona virus quarantine, I
would wake convinced that we were all going to die. I’ve since modified that
opinion. My brother says he has three o’clock thoughts of, “Wish I hadn’t done
that one.” I too have regrets—sometimes I fix on a lost love or a book not
written and feel great regret. Why is it that three o’clock thoughts are always
disturbing?
On the
other hand, I can wake at six, go back to a deep sleep filled with dreams, and
wake at eight with happy feelings. Sometimes I quickly forget what I dreamt,
but other mornings I carry the memory around with me all day. When I worked in
the TCU Press office, I used to recount my dreams. One was that a possum made
its way into our office, and our production manager picked it up to carry it outside—when
it peed on her. Ever after, she would say, “I sure hated being peed on by that
possum!”
I am
blessed that for the most part I am a sound sleeper and almost never bothered
by nightmares or night terrors. Sometimes I dream that dream-within-a-dream
where you know what you’re experiencing is a dream, but you can’t wake. I do
have tenacious dreams—I’ll wake from a dream I don’t like, go to the bathroom
or something to kind of divert my brain, and go right back into that dream. It’s
like I can’t get rid of it.
Sometimes
I write great fiction in my dreams, but in the morning, I either can’t remember
it or realize that it was an impossible fantasy that would never translate into
good writing. Still, I am blessed not to be an insomniac!
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