Dreams and Thoughts
"Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word,
a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring,
all of which have the potential to turn a life around."
- Leo Buscaglia
I meant to record the dream earlier in the day, and now I have to get it out of my head along with my current thoughts.
THE DREAM:
I was in a club. It's not like any club we have in MI, nor one I've seen here in Spain, so who knows where my brain conjured up the image. The stairs to the door are behind me followed by a little floor. I'm on a raised platform in the center of the room that angles around like a backwards "J"...I'm on the bend. To my left the room and the platform stretch out farther into the club darkness, and I know the DJ box is back there. Right-and-center is the bar. The walls behind it are lit purple and green.
Some guy is trying to grind on me, and I give this very bored sigh, and hop off the platform 'cause all I want to do is dance by myself. I reach down to fix my shoe, and I find a bottle of vodka, another bottle of clear liquor (don't remember what it was except that it was flavored) and a bag of ice at my feet. I want to take them out and make a mixed drink, but I need to find the bathroom.
Then I'm out in the country. I'm lifting one end of long, heavy wooden planks from one pile and moving them over to another two feet to the right. There's some unsavory guy at the other end, and a couple more guys off to the left on the first guy's side of the pile. We're talking about something clandestine (I don't remember what...maybe I'm not talking...maybe I'm just lifting). The planks turn into slabs of cement with stones and nails mixed in...I have to be careful not to grab a nail. It's not that heavy to lift, though, even if it is fifeen to twenty feet long.
We finish, the other guys go away with some parting words. They've got their information. They have to go "take care" of anyone who knows more than should.
The other guy leads me to the black car. He's talking to me, but I smile wryly and say without looking at him, "You're going to kill me, too, aren't you?" He doesn't reply, just gets in the car. I get in behind the drivers seat. He starts the car, and we're driving for only a moment before I see him lean back in his chair and fish around in first his left pocket then his right. I see a small black gun (my bro would have known what it was... I can only say it had a short barrel and you pop the rounds in at the base....[heh, "rounds"...well, those are the bullets, but I know there's a name for the whole package that you jam in the base of a gun :P]). He pops the bullets into place, turns deliberately in his chair (he's holding the gun with his left hand over his right shoulder, still driving the car with his right hand), and aims at my forehead.
I stare at it for two seconds, knowing he's going to shoot me in the head, and asking myself why I don't have the presence of mind to duck, throw open the door and jump out, do SOMETHING, anything but just SIT THERE!! ....And then I jerk awake before he fires.
THOUGHTS ON ROMANCE AS POSSIBILITY IN REALITY:
I was reading in my book a story about a young, aspiring stonecrafter who wanted to marry a rich, woman wool merchant. Both had strange backgrounds (he'd been raised solely by his mother in the forest after the nobility had hung his father as a thief, and she had had to work her way back to wealth, having once been an earl's daughter then thrown in poverty when her father was arrested for treason).
The curious question at present is this: While he loves her (and has for years), why would she ever accept him? He himself realizes he is a bastard (in the old sense of the word) with nothing to offer her but his "pretty face". But he loves her. *In typical Libra fashion, makes the sign of a scale using both her hands, and moving them vertically up and down* (Those who know me have certainly seen me do this is real life)
So what wins? I mean, really, in the real world, what would win? A story's a story, but a good story is based on believable facts and just enough fiction and romance to be plausible and leave the reader feeling happy. (After all, we don't want too much reality... we read to step away from that for a while. :P)
The reason I just have the question popping into my head is because my dad was talking to me a little while back. I always knew my dad cared a great deal about what guy I choose in life ("protective daddy" mentality as well as I suspect he doesn't think many guys are good enough :P). But my dad is also very smart, and he gives good advice. His latest piece was "he has to be a worker, Rae. Dreamer's are all well and good, but he needs to be a worker." Well, father's have been saying that to their daughters since time immemorable. And it makes a good deal of sense. For example, my Uncle: great man, very intelligent...artist. Does some great things with art. Has also dabbled in many lines of business, but first and foremost he's an artist. And you know, my aunt and uncle were together a loooong time, through all the hard times (and I think they may have been poorer than my mom and dad after they first got married, though I'm not completely sure), but now they've separated. Why? Oh, my Uncle works and works... but nothing comes to fruition. I'm not really sure where the failing point is (I intend to try to ask my dad someday), but suffice to say my Uncle's many skills in art and business haven't provided.
Now, I've never been against being the bread-winner. But at the same time, I wouldn't want to be the only one bringing in steady cash. And there's something ... some personality characteristic about a guy with a strong work ethic that is appealing. But then again, too much choleric in them, and they act like my dad. :P Love my dad, but I couldn't marry a guy like him. His work ethic, yes. The rest of it, probably not. :P
These are all thoughts rolling around behind a larger thought: Could I be happy marrying a dreamer? Could I be happy marrying someone with a good skill but in a penniless field? Could I marry someone who isn't willing to work hard, or takes the easy road when things are looking tough - going off and doing whatever they want to do instead of confronting the issue?
And if that's their position in work, wouldn't that carry over into their position in a relationship?
These are all just thoughts, but the more I think about my Aunt and Uncle, the more I'm curious how they got as far as they did. I just tend to have questions that crop up that make me think of them 'cause I look at my Aunt as kinda having lived out her little romance...marrying her tall, artistic husband she loved, for better or for worse.
Yet I always hated the practical women in the stories that would never take a risk. *Grins*
Oh well, maybe I'll never be faced with the dilemna. It's just that as I get older, I really do wonder how some of the adult relationships I grew up around worked (and continue to work) as long as they have. :P
a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring,
all of which have the potential to turn a life around."
- Leo Buscaglia
I meant to record the dream earlier in the day, and now I have to get it out of my head along with my current thoughts.
THE DREAM:
I was in a club. It's not like any club we have in MI, nor one I've seen here in Spain, so who knows where my brain conjured up the image. The stairs to the door are behind me followed by a little floor. I'm on a raised platform in the center of the room that angles around like a backwards "J"...I'm on the bend. To my left the room and the platform stretch out farther into the club darkness, and I know the DJ box is back there. Right-and-center is the bar. The walls behind it are lit purple and green.
Some guy is trying to grind on me, and I give this very bored sigh, and hop off the platform 'cause all I want to do is dance by myself. I reach down to fix my shoe, and I find a bottle of vodka, another bottle of clear liquor (don't remember what it was except that it was flavored) and a bag of ice at my feet. I want to take them out and make a mixed drink, but I need to find the bathroom.
Then I'm out in the country. I'm lifting one end of long, heavy wooden planks from one pile and moving them over to another two feet to the right. There's some unsavory guy at the other end, and a couple more guys off to the left on the first guy's side of the pile. We're talking about something clandestine (I don't remember what...maybe I'm not talking...maybe I'm just lifting). The planks turn into slabs of cement with stones and nails mixed in...I have to be careful not to grab a nail. It's not that heavy to lift, though, even if it is fifeen to twenty feet long.
We finish, the other guys go away with some parting words. They've got their information. They have to go "take care" of anyone who knows more than should.
The other guy leads me to the black car. He's talking to me, but I smile wryly and say without looking at him, "You're going to kill me, too, aren't you?" He doesn't reply, just gets in the car. I get in behind the drivers seat. He starts the car, and we're driving for only a moment before I see him lean back in his chair and fish around in first his left pocket then his right. I see a small black gun (my bro would have known what it was... I can only say it had a short barrel and you pop the rounds in at the base....[heh, "rounds"...well, those are the bullets, but I know there's a name for the whole package that you jam in the base of a gun :P]). He pops the bullets into place, turns deliberately in his chair (he's holding the gun with his left hand over his right shoulder, still driving the car with his right hand), and aims at my forehead.
I stare at it for two seconds, knowing he's going to shoot me in the head, and asking myself why I don't have the presence of mind to duck, throw open the door and jump out, do SOMETHING, anything but just SIT THERE!! ....And then I jerk awake before he fires.
THOUGHTS ON ROMANCE AS POSSIBILITY IN REALITY:
I was reading in my book a story about a young, aspiring stonecrafter who wanted to marry a rich, woman wool merchant. Both had strange backgrounds (he'd been raised solely by his mother in the forest after the nobility had hung his father as a thief, and she had had to work her way back to wealth, having once been an earl's daughter then thrown in poverty when her father was arrested for treason).
The curious question at present is this: While he loves her (and has for years), why would she ever accept him? He himself realizes he is a bastard (in the old sense of the word) with nothing to offer her but his "pretty face". But he loves her. *In typical Libra fashion, makes the sign of a scale using both her hands, and moving them vertically up and down* (Those who know me have certainly seen me do this is real life)
So what wins? I mean, really, in the real world, what would win? A story's a story, but a good story is based on believable facts and just enough fiction and romance to be plausible and leave the reader feeling happy. (After all, we don't want too much reality... we read to step away from that for a while. :P)
The reason I just have the question popping into my head is because my dad was talking to me a little while back. I always knew my dad cared a great deal about what guy I choose in life ("protective daddy" mentality as well as I suspect he doesn't think many guys are good enough :P). But my dad is also very smart, and he gives good advice. His latest piece was "he has to be a worker, Rae. Dreamer's are all well and good, but he needs to be a worker." Well, father's have been saying that to their daughters since time immemorable. And it makes a good deal of sense. For example, my Uncle: great man, very intelligent...artist. Does some great things with art. Has also dabbled in many lines of business, but first and foremost he's an artist. And you know, my aunt and uncle were together a loooong time, through all the hard times (and I think they may have been poorer than my mom and dad after they first got married, though I'm not completely sure), but now they've separated. Why? Oh, my Uncle works and works... but nothing comes to fruition. I'm not really sure where the failing point is (I intend to try to ask my dad someday), but suffice to say my Uncle's many skills in art and business haven't provided.
Now, I've never been against being the bread-winner. But at the same time, I wouldn't want to be the only one bringing in steady cash. And there's something ... some personality characteristic about a guy with a strong work ethic that is appealing. But then again, too much choleric in them, and they act like my dad. :P Love my dad, but I couldn't marry a guy like him. His work ethic, yes. The rest of it, probably not. :P
These are all thoughts rolling around behind a larger thought: Could I be happy marrying a dreamer? Could I be happy marrying someone with a good skill but in a penniless field? Could I marry someone who isn't willing to work hard, or takes the easy road when things are looking tough - going off and doing whatever they want to do instead of confronting the issue?
And if that's their position in work, wouldn't that carry over into their position in a relationship?
These are all just thoughts, but the more I think about my Aunt and Uncle, the more I'm curious how they got as far as they did. I just tend to have questions that crop up that make me think of them 'cause I look at my Aunt as kinda having lived out her little romance...marrying her tall, artistic husband she loved, for better or for worse.
Yet I always hated the practical women in the stories that would never take a risk. *Grins*
Oh well, maybe I'll never be faced with the dilemna. It's just that as I get older, I really do wonder how some of the adult relationships I grew up around worked (and continue to work) as long as they have. :P