FOOD DREAMS

The last few nights, my dreams have been filled with food. They are almost feverish in nature and often slightly gruesome. It started with a friendsgiving I was attending, except I didn’t really know any of these people. The table was filled with people I know through the internet, people I have never spoken with face to face. We are ‘friends’ because we like the content we each bring to social media. We are like minded humans. Our dinner plates each held a large whole fish and I watched as everyone at the table picked up the fish with their hands and tear into the flesh with their teeth like wolves or bears. I realized the fish wasn’t even cooked and in many cases, still a little bit alive. Yet, the whole time, I held meaningful conversations with those seated around me while they ripped and chewed on a raw whole fish. I awoke with clear memories of a candle lit table covered in a beautiful cornucopia of dishes and people picking fish skin from their teeth.

The second night of fever food dreams had something to do with werewolves eating Doritos, which at first sounds like something Chris made up. In fact, if I looked hard enough through his files, I wouldn’t be surprised to find a screenplay about werewolves who like to snack on Doritos in between meals of human flesh. The floor of where ever I was in this dreamland was littered with human body parts and bags of Doritos. I stood before a werewolf as he casually pulled perfect orange triangle chips from the bag. He offered me one, said “Want a Dorito before I rip off your arm?” I snorted and rolled my eyes. “You want my last meal to be a fucking Dorito?!? Just rip off my arm already and get on with it.” Thankfully I woke up before the ripping started, but my left shoulder was a bit achey the next morning.

Now, after writing this all down, I’m sitting here attempting to decipher the meaning of all of this. What is my brain really trying to say to me or warn me about? We are entering the season of overindulgence. This usually means I just end up adding more kale to my diet. I over indulge in kale. Last weekend, I bought two things of soup: one tomato feta from the refrigerated section and one jar of garden vegetable. When I presented them to Michael as lunch choices, he asked “Why did you buy the tomato soup?” I told him I bought it for the day’s lunch. Then he asked “Then why did you buy the garden vegetable?” I replied “That was my impulse buy.” Michael snorted and replied “No one impulse buys vegetable soup. That is not an impulse buy.” I believe he was implying that impulse buys were things like the various candies on display at checkout, not jars of soup.

Not so secret: I have on occasion purchased an extra bag of kale. I consider this an impulse purchase, a just in case we run out of kale purchase (we never run out of kale).

Maybe these dreams are my subconscious telling me to dig into a more primal side of life, a life of more decadent pleasures like eating a whole jar of caviar with a spoon made of pearl. Maybe that werewolf is just telling me to live a little and eat some junk food. I don’t know what any one at that dinner table could be saying. I’m not eating a raw live fish…but I’ll eat raw fish(?). Maybe eating something that is still moving is the next decadent adventure? I don’t know if I want that adventure and I am pretty sure I have reached an age were I can fully live a “Choose Your Own Adventure” life. Perhaps I will just start out by making an impulsive candy bar purchase.

A fish shaped candy bar.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

It is currently Wednesday and I’m thinking about Friday’s gratitude posting. When I look out the window from my standing point at my work desk, I have a perfect view of the fountain in the center of the circle drive. More than a dozen robins are taking turns between being at the fountain and the trees that surround the fountain. I have seen people walking outside without coats on and this weekend I’m checking the tires for all two wheeled vehicles. This was never a Fake Spring, but the real deal with an the occasional appearance of Fake Winter. The air feels like Spring and tastes like adventure.

I gave Michael the option of joining me on my Moose Hunt in June and he got pretty excited about hunting mythical creatures. Months ago, I made a plea for a return visit to New Orleans. I know we were just there, but I feel like I didn’t absorb enough aiyee. I didn’t eat enough crawfish or slurp down enough (hardly any) raw oysters. Ever since leaving from New Orleans, I’ve been craving that place more than I would expect. I might love the Pacific Northwest, but I left my soul in New Orleans years and years ago. It has owned a piece of me since I was three. I didn’t have to twist any of Michael’s arms to get him to agree to another visit. That trip is booked and planned and I hadn’t expected to be planning any other trips for the year.

But then the Moose Hunt.

And a weekend tulip festival with my mom and sister.

And some gal camp trips.

And…

And…

I don’t want to spend a lot of money or even travel a great distance, but I want to fill this year up with tiny adventures. I did not know this at first, even though, well before the New Year, I had made some sort of word collage of wants for 2024 and “seeing a moose” and “solo camp trips” made an appearance in this collage. I didn’t really believe that I would get any more proactive than writing those wants down somewhere. I didn’t believe I would ever say the wants out loud. Yet I have said them out loud and in doing so it feels like I have cast spells. This spell casting has me feeling lighter and hopeful. There have been times when the thought of planning and actually going places has felt exhausting. Finding the place to stay. Packing the car. Making the drive to the place. Just the idea of all of it has felt heavy and leaves me in need of a nap. But something is different now.

This feels exciting.

GET ON THE BUS GUS

Yellow

See this Instagram photo by @elephant_soap * 4 likes

Tomorrow morning at four AM, I will be on a Greyhound bus headed to Tulsa. Sounds like I'm writing a country song. You see, while everyone has been posting about the death of Gene Wilder, I have been trying to figure out a way to write about the death of our old family friend, Karen. This is why I'm going to Tulsa on a bus, to pay my respects to one of the women of the tribe who helped raise me. When I was little and had to stay overnight at Karen's house, she would make me teddy bear shaped pancakes for breakfast. The first time she did, I went home and told Mom about it. In fact, I talked for days and days about teddy bear shaped pancakes. This prompted Mom to step up her pancake skills and I woke up one morning to find a stack of elaborate elephant pancakes. When I tagged along to the movies with Janell and Karen's daughter Stephanie, I sat with Karen. She was the one that suggested we hang out in the lobby until Gremlins was over after she noticed me curled up into a a trembling ball on my seat. That movie was terrifying and I still have not seen it all the way through. Karen was also our cake maker. She made beautiful and delicious cakes. She made my wedding cake and Chris and I would talk about our reception for years and how that cake was so good. She was like a blend of Annie Potts characters. Her eyelashes, which I'm pretty sure were fake, were the most stellar eyelashes you've ever seen.

Our plan was to hang out at Randy and Katrina's cabin in Branson this weekend. Driving to Tulsa and back in one day and then turning around to drive to Branson the next seemed daunting. Driving to Tulsa by myself and then traveling from Tulsa to Branson on Friday seemed stupid because then we'd have two cars in Branson. I wanted to take the train but there's not a direct route to Tulsa. I thought about taking a flight but a quick search yielded ticket prices over $200. So, I'm taking the bus. This way, I can ride to the cabin with Randy and Katrina. Michael and the Cabbage will meet us there and we'll all be able to ride back to KCMO together. You know those critical thinking math questions on the GRE where you have a softball team with Susie, Dona, and Jessica and maybe a Samantha and someone else and you have to put them on the field but Susie can only be on the field if Dona is, but can't be on the field if Jessica is? Turns out that life is really a lot like those questions. 

I've ridden my fair share of charter busses in my day. I spent summers traveling around the country with the All State Baptist Choir in a caravan of charters busses, not to mention all the other band and 4-H trips. I have never ridden a Greyhound bus. Everything I know about riding the bus, THE bus, I know from TV and the stories Dad would tell about riding the bus across Wyoming. Because of those things, I have always thought the bus was a slightly seedy mode of transportation reserved for runaways and recently released convicts. My visions of bus riding also include a romantic side. I can imagine sitting, looking out a bus window as it travels across the South West, watching the sun move across the red dirt of a desert. I'd use the cacti as sun dials and we'd occasionally stop for coffee breaks in towns that consisted of one gas station. The soundtrack would include songs like Everybody's Talkin' and City of New Orleans. I imagine that as soon as I step onto the bus that the world will take on a yellow tint, like 70s film and I expect that someone will offer me a homemade baloney sandwich wrapped in wax paper.  

Of course, I realize that my bus trip will most likely be uneventful. With any luck I will have a seat to myself and be able to take a nap, read a book or watch a movie in peace. I will not have to worry about keeping my eye on the road or checking the fuel gage. I will not have to be sure to have the right amount of toll money ready for the toll gate. I'll get to Tulsa with very little effort on my part, but the imagined story of the trip is already writing itself in my head. Maybe I'll tell it to you one day.