DREAMING ABOUT CHICKENS – Marilyn Armstrong

Last night I dreamed about chickens.

It looked a lot like it does around here. A bit hilly. Lots of trees. There was a movie star living in the house. She was supposed to be young, but her skin looked like the bottom of an old leather suitcase and was a trifle orange. She was going back to California where she believed she would be better off.

youtube.com

That left me with 200 chickens. The fowl were arriving (shortly) by truck. Healthy, young, hens and roosters. Enough to start a nice little chicken farm.

Except I didn’t want to be a chicken farmer and I was pretty sure, neither did Garry. I couldn’t just leave the chickens to die of hunger, thirst, and cold. I’m a responsible person and I love animals. Even chickens.

Chickens don’t get lost

I was still baffled over the whole chicken conundrum when I finally gave up, opened my eyes, and began my day. Coffee would banish chickens. Garry said it was from a movie we’d seen and I was caught in an old movie loop.

Sometimes, the absolutely best storyteller in the world has got to be my subconscious. I would never consider creating a story involving me and chickens.

Author Gordon Winter, Garry and chickens
Author Gordon Winter, Garry, and chickens

Not counting authors since this prompt doesn’t concern that … who tells great stories?

Garry tells wonderful stories. He makes us laugh. I don’t know if the story is true or maybe just a little true, but whatever, it is great entertainment. Tom tells great stories too and he usually has a good closing line, which is probably my biggest story-telling issue. I can tell a good story but I run on too long and am not good at wrapping it up. I’m good for the yarn’s first three-quarters.

Story-telling is the glue that makes friends want to hang out with each other. If you can keep the crowd laughing, you’ll never be alone.

It’s not booze, movies, or video games. Certainly not texting. It’s stories. The tales of our experiences, things we remember, times and places and people we’ve known.

Photo: Ben Taylor

I keep wondering what people will do when they realize you can’t live forever with just a cell phone? They don’t seem to have a clue about having conversations or telling stories. From whence will their stories emerge?

Our stories are our personal mythology. Will our children and grandchildren have stories? Or anyone to tell them?

It worries me. It really does.

RAGE AND HELPLESSNESS – Marilyn Armstrong

FOWC with Fandango — Number

I woke up this morning in a rage at my father, but really, at all the men in my life who have taken so much and given back so little. In all these years of living, how could I let so many numbers of years travel by while I failed to realize the amount of anger I’ve accumulated?

And how did I fail to realize how helpless I have felt through all these years?

Goes to show you — just when you think you are over the hump, there’s another hill right in front of you.

I think the hills are never done.

DREAMS – FOWC FROM FANDANGO AND THE EVERLY BROTHERS – Marilyn Armstrong

FOWC with Fandango — Dreamer


This song peaked in 1958, the year I turned 11. But that was not the end of it because many other people sang it and for reasons someone can probably explain, the words have had a strange way of sticking in your head.

This song has gotten stuck in my ears regularly over the years … and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.

The Everly Brothers: ALL I HAVE TO DO IS DREAM!

COVFEFE, KERFUFFLE AND A LEGEND FROM AMERICA’S COLLECTIVE NIGHTMARE – Marilyn Armstrong

The Kerfuffle About Covfefe

First, let me speculate on the old word “covfefe.” Although over the months there has been much speculation about what the originally intended word might have been (if indeed an actual word was intended at all) — “coverage” came up as a possibility. Personally, I’ve always felt “kerfuffle” was the target word.

I believe “covfefe” was supposed to mean “kerfuffle” but Our Leader can’t spell and also has not learned how to use Google to find a missed spelling. So he just throws stuff into Twitter without regard for the language. He has no regard for the constitution, so what’s another English word or three?

Kerfuffle is not easy to spell and since he can’t spell even simple words, he certainly can’t spell that one. It means “a commotion or fuss, especially one caused by conflicting views.” Kind of where the world is at. Truth be known, try writing “kerfuffle” on your phone and watch auto-correct go wacko.

Our leader, Lord Pit-of-Evil, believes he is a legend. 

If he is a legend, it is from a collective nightmare of our nation. For those of us who had nightmares concerning “the state of the state,” this is the guy we were sure we could never have to govern us because we have laws. Rules.

Our constitution has always survived the assholes. I feel obliged to remind everyone that he is not the first or only asshole to make it to the top of our political ladder. There have been others. More than one. If there were social media when Andrew Jackson was president, it would have been pretty much like this. Or worse. He personally slaughtered entire Native tribes. Unabashedly, with vigor and verve. And you don’t even want to know about his personal life.

I have saved this favorite bit of cartooning from the New Yorker for today. It is exactly how I feel.

A BOSTONIAN NIGHTMARE – RDP #6 – Marilyn Armstrong

Nightmares in Tandem

I actually did have one and it woke me up. It didn’t wake me up because it was so awful, but because I have a bad habit of letting one leg drop off the bed. It hangs in the air and twists so I wake up with my knee throbbing.

I really have to stop doing that.

The thing was, I was dreaming about Garry. Visiting him when he was in Boston and I was still in New York. Every time I wanted to talk to him, another woman showed up. There were women all over the place. Also, there were six baby ducks who seemed to be the babies of a couple of iron ducks on Boston Commons. Weird little ducklings who looked almost like fish, except when they looked exactly like ducklings.

Garry didn’t have anything in the house to feed them (he never did) except pretzels. I was pretty sure they needed real food, which I was going to the grocery to buy.

But all those women were really getting on my nerves and then the knee began to hurt. I realized that I had been married to Garry for a long time and all I had to do was wake up.

I woke up. Both arms were asleep. I had to physically lift my leg back into bed. I really have to stop doing that. Sooner or later, the rest of me will also fall out of bed and it wouldn’t be the first time.

Once I got all the various parts of me into bed, I snuggled up to Garry until my arms fell asleep again, but by then it was time to get up anyway.

Meanwhile, Garry told me HE was having a dream about women and realizing he wasn’t going to go there because he had another relationship (yes, dear, you really do!), so we were having the same dream from two positions on the issue.

He did have an awful lot of women hanging around. Remarkably, he married me. Sometimes, you just get lucky.

DREAMING OF LOTTERY WINS – Marilyn Armstrong

RDP #3 – IMAGINATION

I’m imagining my life if I really won the lottery. Would I fix this house, or knock it down and build a new one? What kind of car would we get?

I’m imagining spending the worst months of winter in a warmer climate … like … Arizona maybe? I’m imagining getting my teeth properly fixed and Garry getting whatever is on his wish list. Being able to afford to get the dogs groomed — which would require that they find the time to take them. I don’t think more money would help with that!

What does Duke dream about?

I’m not imagining how this would change my body because — other than my teeth — it won’t. We are what we are. With all the money in the world, we aren’t going to be doing vast amounts of traveling, although I suppose flying first class might beat out Economy. Okay so maybe a little better.

The ultimate non-repairable problem is you can’t buy youth or health. These matters are in the hands of larger powers than the lottery.

This is my favorite form of dreaming — the one where we get all the money we need and imagining how we can use it. Who we can help. How many others we can help dig out of the holes getting older has pushed them into.

Then I realize we have a problem.

We never buy lottery tickets. We intend to buy them, but we forget.  No danger of winning. Or losing.

No tickets, no bushels of bucks. Next time?

DREAM AND REAL – Marilyn Armstrong

Juxtapose

In my dreams – now rapidly fading as dreams do when you wake – is that I was so exhausted I could not continue. I didn’t know why I was so exhausted, only that I could barely raise my head from the pillow. I knew I had to quit the job that I had and I wasn’t entirely clear what job I was working

It turned out I was working for the military, searching out information on obscure (unknown?) bases in distant places … and I was not allowed to tell anyone what I was doing because I was supposedly doing something else. I had gotten my old friend Dorothy to join me and she had been working on some other base in some other part of the world, but had finally had enough and quit.

I wanted to quit too, but I felt I had to stay because it was secret and military and somehow, important, though I wasn’t sure why it was important. Or to whom.

Juxtapose reality: Life has been exhausting. I do what I must and then I do what I should and just when I think I’ve done everything I need to do, it’s the next day and I have to do most of it again and I know it will never end.

Moral of the story? I need to cut back on what I think are the requirements of life. But I’m not sure what they are anymore. I’m no longer sure where the necessities are versus the things I really want to do. For whatever reason, they have become so entangled that I just try to do everything. Because I know that no one else will do them.

Having dug my computer out of hacker land, I’m changing the router – which I can ill-afford to do – but I feel pretty exposed and I need to feel more protected in a world gone mad with crazy people who are out to get me.

Why is anyone trying to get me? Or us? We have so little, why us? We know there is no answer to that question, or at least, no answer that will make us understand. The ugliness of the world is the real truth of it.

A group who had little feel they owe nothing to anyone but themselves. They probably laugh at us when they imagine how many poor people have been made even poorer through their efforts.

The right way to sleep

A cold shiver runs down my back when I realize that there are so many evil people in this world and my trusting them has not gained respect but simply made me a target.

If my dreams are telling me anything, it’s that there is too much on my plate. Too much of it feels desperately important and frightening. Oppressive. Somehow, I have to find a way to lower the pressure. I don’t know how.

I wish I had a list of ways to get it done. Something. This is no way for me to be living, not at this time in my life.