Skating on the Surface of Consciousness

I have had very few really vivid dreams in my life. Usually, when I wake up from a dream, the details almost immediately begin to fade. Some mornings I will say to Tom,"I had this really weird dream last night" and when he asks about it, it's gone. 

There are a few things I have dreamed about that remain vivid. Years ago, I dreamed that we were moving a house to Berkeley from Oklahoma. It was a big old three story house, and we were moving it by helicopter. I remember riding in the sleeping porch, and could still identify the exact shade of pale green that that board and batten walls and the window sashes were painted. There are other houses in my dreams that have showed up multiple times - even though the dreams themselves are not that clear, the houses have been consistent. It's kind of an odd experience in a dream to be in a house and to know, "Let's go down this way and there's another entrance that leads to the back yard." 

Of course, the dream that I had about the Rickards ranks high as one of the most vivid dreams I have ever had. Even now, I can still remember details about them and about our conversation. Irene reached her hand out and placed it on the door to the pass through into the dining room - she didn't open it, but she just rested her hand against it, almost fondly. I can see her hand on that door now.

I guess part of my fascination with all this is my current trip to Chemoworld. The exhaustion that comes with this trip lends itself to a lot of sleeping. After Chemo Number One, I was sleeping 20 hours a day some days. Although much of that sleep was more like being comatose than sleeping, dreams occupied some of the time.

Chemo Number Two has been similarly exhausting, but not nearly as much as the first round. The issue I face now is, how do I use the precious energy that I have each day? On Thursday, I was part of a CforAT staff meeting, which was totally wonderful, and I got to chat with everyone for over half an hour. Then I slept for an hour to make up for it.

The dream that has been sticking with me now has been the dream of the land in Bodega. I have had several dreams about moving the Kenney Cottage up to Bodega, and Tom and I working on putting it back together. 

When I dream about it, there are so many layers to look at. The house itself did not have a bathroom, so bathrooms, another bedroom, and other amenities will need to be added. I think we have a plan that will allow the house to remain in original condition yet still be livable and usable by us when it is done.

The one thing in the dream that doesn't change is the land. Even now, I can see the lot in Bodega where we are reassembling the house. There is a slope up to a level space, a large area of flat ground where the house could rise and take in the view. There are trees but it is not wooded - the area in front of where the house will go looks almost like it could have been a lake or marsh at one point (of course, in my dreams, Tom is heavily invested in restoring the wetlands).  

Obviously, we aren't going to Bodega any time soon to look for land, particularly since we don't actually have the money to buy land there. But I know it is there - I can feel it, I can see it, I can smell it. I'm not a great one for determining acreage, but there is enough land to make the house feel like it is on its own place, and not stuck in a neighborhood. I guess the land I see is five acres or so. I can see how the road will be built into it, how the way to the house will curve upward. 

The other kind of skating I have been doing is through old movies. I have found that I can't really focus on a new movie - when I tried to watch something, I kept losing track of the characters. So now I have been watching movies that feel like old familiar friends. The advantage to this is, if I fall asleep during the movie, I don't wake up disoriented - I know what is happening, and just pick it up where we are. 

Almost every movie I have watched is black and white. I have seem my favorite classics: "The Gay Divorcee", "You Can't Take It With You", "The Best Years of Our Lives", "42nd Street". If I had the energy for a different type of dance, I could easily reprise the "Shuffle Off to Buffalo" trip, and would even begin working on learning "The Continental."

I've watched some newer movies, though my kids will scoff at what I consider a new movie. One of my family's favorites is "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World", and that has been on my playlist. I watched "Rear Window", which is still fabulous after all these years.  "The Odd Couple" counts as a new movie in my mind (1968 - wasn't that yesterday?)  

I've also watched a couple clinkers. I remember thinking that "The Big Chill" was a pretty bad movie, with terrible acting and a totally self-absorbed cast of boring characters. My memory of that movie was correct - it stinks. 

Anyway, what is interesting about all this to me is how I have not been bored. I'm not sitting around wondering how I will get through the day - the days drift by, and I am drifting with them.

When I was in high school, I had a friend whose father offered to bring her with him on a four day trip to London. She was so excited, having never been to London. Flying across the Atlantic, she started to feel ill, and by the time they reached their very swank hotel, she had a terrible case of stomach flu. When she got back and I asked her about London, she said the bathroom was small with very high ceilings and lots of woodwork, and that the toilet had a large very white porcelain bowl. She literally remembered nothing else but being in the bathroom.

So is that the secret to a trip to Chemoworld? It's like what Schopenhauer said - "Every man takes the limits of his own vision for the limits of the world." Maybe my view of Chemoworld is faulty because I am so damn tired all the time, and mostly I'm sending out these blog postcards of my pillow. 

The whole trip is a struggle. Even though Chemo Two has been simpler than Chemo One, neither one has been fun. Will I get to gather more info on the strange land I find myself in? Or, like my high school friend, will I end up writing about heavy brass locks and porcelain bowls for the entire time?

There is no way out but through, so I will move forward. I hope what has come so far, and what is to follow, will not be deadly boring. I really do want to give people a sense of what this weird land is like. Whether or not my observations will be of value - well, we will have to wait and see what develops. 

More to come, I'm afraid.