Purple and pink. Burnt umber and grey. Who can tell what is real or dream? Last night in a dream I walked in tall grass. It scratched my legs. Today I walked through the same grass. Little white bugs flew up but never touched me. Fiona called them flies. “Mommy” she whined. “Flies are getting on my horsy”. I walk back through the flies and tall grass. A bit of asphalt on the ground catches my eye, I hadn’t noticed it the first time I passed this spot. The area intrigues me. Old remnants of structure, of road that used to be here. A strange brown bridge Jack, Fiona, and Valentina sit on. It’s old pieces of round, dark brown, wood, it almost looks like tree branches. It’s scratchy and splintery. It goes to nowhere over nothing, as if it were transplanted from a place it belonged. “Fiona, your horsey loves grass.” I say. She got a new play horse yesterday, she loves it. Memories flood me, being a kid, playing with my horses in the grass, pretending they were eating and I was going on a ride. I imagined what I did and did what I imagined. In nature. Under the sun, the dirt, red ants biting my butt, stepping on nails, getting tetanus shots. Bugs and beetles and pollywogs. Frogs and snakes and old barns, old trailer campers. Vacant rose greenhouses where the sun shines through the broken fiberglass roof and roses still bloom. We rode our ponies through, feeling what was, feeling what the space is for us. A vacation. A dream world with real spiders and scary stories. Purple and burnt umber. Pink and white. These are the colors I chose to paint with today. It was a good, productive day in my studio. Painted in my notebooks. Pulled apart tons of pages that have stuck together leaving scars. Leaving repairs to be done. Structure. But it went well. Realized I have a lot of pages to finish in my gargantuan notebook before my show this fall. I can do it. I take deep breaths throughout the day. I stay connected. I cocoon when I need to. I got what I needed today.
Tag: dreams
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I cradled Jacks wet body in my arms, his head relaxed with a smile, his hair damp on his forehead. I moved him around in the water, swoosh, swoosh. I couldn’t feel my own body, I couldn’t tell if the water was warm or cold. My feet didn’t send any messages about the bottom, was it soft and muddy or firm. Were there reeds or rocks? We moved down the river as the sun moved down behind the trees creating shadows on the surface of the sepia colored water. When the water became opaque from the disappearing light I woke up.
Now I’m on my second cup of coffee, it’s 6:38AM, Jack and Fiona still asleep. I have a case of melancholia this morning, maybe a bit of sentimentality. Dog, baby, the Lego creations Jack made yesterday, they make me so sad to look at them, feeling the loss already. I feel the day they no longer play with sweet little toys, they’ve grown up so fast already and it hasn’t even been two years. They’re still babies, but they’re almost like little kids. It’s going by so fast, one day moves into the next without a still moment. I’m stuck on the freeway on a stretch of road that always has traffic but today it’s clear, I look at the odometer and I’m going 80MPH in a 55MPH zone, my car swerving into the next lane, I take my foot off the accelerator, I slow down. But it happens again, over and over, where is the traffic? Why is there no traffic? I need to slow down, I need time to slow down. But it doesn’t and it won’t.
Yesterday as I sat on the couch with the babies, all caught up with my chores, painting, and writing (to my surprise because I was so tired) I felt totally relaxed. I thought about how I could be if I had nothing else pulling me, if I just took care of the babies, the household. I could be with them all the time, have lots of energy, not be stressed. But then I thought that’s total bullshit. I would still be stressed and probably depressed if I had no sense of self, something other than being a mom and wife. I don’t think I could survive like that, unless I was born with a totally different composition. But I wasn’t. I feel like every decision I make counts. Time is so precious. People often say they worry about me, I don’t think anyone needs to worry about me. I wonder how they live a stress free life though. Are they so less stressed? Do they have things so much more together than I do? Do they not have any conflicting emotions?
I’ve always been like this, a deep thinker, a tortured soul. Am I the only one who at just twenty months of their children’s lives is already lamenting the day they are grown or the day I am dead? I doubt it, but maybe other people wouldn’t offer it up, put their emotions, worries, and fears outside their own heads.
My heart is starting to beat faster, maybe I’ve drank too much coffee now! It still sounds quiet in the nursery, but its 7:08AM and they will be up soon. Bottles ready, time to make some breakfast for Jack and Fiona. I love the moment every morning when I open their bedroom door and say, “Good Morning Babies” and that makes me cry too because that is a fleeting thing. It won’t be long until they are out of their cribs and can get up and out of their room on their own. Their need of me will become less and less. Today I will relish in it, our morning routine. “I love you babies.” I will say over and over again.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 