A long night

 

My brother, home and in the wheelchair.
I think he looks great considering all he's been through
I am so grateful.

Was there a spot on the moon last night? From my cottage, I heard all kinds of spooky things and had some wild dreams. I went to bed late, maybe just before midnight, and immediately fell deep asleep (yes, I am blessed that way). But after about twenty minutes, I came awake suddenly because I heard voices, men shouting and hollering. And Sophie barked. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my walker so fast that I ignored the medical wisdom I’d heard about sitting on the edge of the bed and collecting yourself for a minute before you stand up—good advice, I think, for the elderly. Except I didn’t do it and felt almost woozy. Now in the cold light of day I don’t know if those voices were in my dream or real. I pulled the kitchen shade aside, but all looked peaceful. I heard nothing. But if there was nothing out there, why did Sophie bark? This morning, Jordan told me she heard nothing.

After prowling around the cottage a bit, with Soph at my heels, I went to bed—and then I began to hear the police helicopter circling. Not directly overhead but probably a bit to the north. It seemed to come close when it circled and then fade off into the distance. And it circled for almost forty-five minutes—by now I was wide awake and watching the clock. Finally it disappeared, and eventually I went back to sleep.

Only to have something on my bedside table beep loudly to tell me it was out of batteries. So I waited, hoping it wasn’t like the alarm system which keeps beeping until you do something. Apparently two beeps was enough. I tried to take a mental inventory of what it could be: not the hearing aid charger, not the remote control for the lamp, not the digital clock, not the remote for the security system (yes, my beside table is a bit crowded). Either the automatic control to my Sleep Numbers bed or the remote for the HVAC unit that hangs from the ceiling and was not in use. I have not investigated yet, but writing this reminds me I must.

As for wild dreams, eighteen hours later I can’t remember them, but at the time they were crystal clear and in my mind I wrote about them in detail. I’m not sure now how much was dream and how much reality. I often remember dreams at least for a few hours and should have written these down. There were two separate dream stories. Wish I knew.

I also in my mind (you can see I was busy) wrote a preface to what I’m calling the cottage memoir. And I remembered that, because this morning I wrote a rough draft of about eleven hundred words. I have had what I call memoir angst—all around me women are writing their memoirs, yet I never felt I had enough to say. I guess I never felt my life was interesting enough, though I will say the one big thing I have done in this life is to adopt four children and raise them, after twelve years, as a single parent. But then I began to learn about the difference between autobiography and memoir, and I began to imagine a memoir about my seven years, so far, in the cottage. There is a story there, but then comes the question of why I feel compelled to share it. Perhaps I’ll share bits of that preface in another blog.

This morning, Jordan, probably aware I’d had a sort of lonely weekend, assured me Christian would grill tonight. That has fallen apart to the point that we are debating what to do with leftovers. Christian brought home some taco meat with bell peppers—that rules it out for me. So he and Jacob will have tacos, and Jordan and I will eat the two salmon patties I have left. She will toast hers; I will make a sandwich spread with lemon and mayonnaise out of mine. Not exactly a coordinated, bountiful Memorial Day picnic! Not it’s almost eight, and no one has appeared. The kind of evening when I wish I had planned a big meal ahead of time.

I just found a message from Jordan that said she was “Kirkegaard delayed.” Puzzling, especially since she is not given to an interest in philosophers, and I’m not sure she even knows who Kirkegaard is/was. I assume autocorrect got her. She was telling me just this evening about autocorrect changing Virginia to virginity and how you have to be careful these days because when you send a message to some one with one of the new cars, the phone system reads the text aloud, no matter who is in the car with the driver. She had texted a message to a friend about meeting at Colonial with Virginia, and it made the change—she cancelled it because she knew the friend had his young daughters in the car with him. Technology isn’t always that great.

My week is off to a good start. I hope yours is too.