Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop: The Strangest Dream Ever

Oops.  I totally forgot about the Writer's Workshop this week, but when I saw Kat's prompts, I knew I had an old post that would fit perfectly.  And wow, talk about a blast from the past.  When I wrote this I had been blogging less than a month!  Wow.

So please join me in a look back at one of the strangest dreams I've ever had.

I have to share the horrible nightmare I had last night! Now, to set it up a bit, I have to first tell you that last week, my now-ex- friend Becky found a tick on her daughter's leg. Now those that know me, know that I love critters great and small, but aside from a dragonfly, I do NOT like bugs. And, as I always sit out on my back porch to email and blog and am not screened in, I am no stranger to the nasty blood sucking skeeters. And let us not forget the spittle bugs,who while sitting on a leaf and eating it, disguise themselves by blowing a secretion out their butt that bubbles up to hide them. Ooh! And the stupid golden brown beetles that keep clocking themselves against the light fixture, before then falling down into my coffee mug or my keyboard. Oh, and my HEAD. Yes, they love landing in my hair, which grosses me out to no end.

As I sit here right now there are beetles circling overhead, cicadas singing in a nearby tree, spittle bugs plastered all over the stucco, and a lone tree frog singing his heart out. I do love the ribbits though. I can't get enough of tree frogs, which is why I have a huge one tattooed on my right shin. But back to the bugs. Florida is known for its bug population and I can attest it is true. We have bugs as big as helicopters, and more stinging/biting things than I care to think about. Five different species of poisonous snake, and a nice variety of spiders, the most scary being the black and brown widow, (which I'm constantly killing back here), and the brown recluse.

So it's no wonder that once in a while I'm going to have a dream that centers around arachnids and creepy crawly things. So there I was last night, sleeping like the proverbial baby,
when all of a sudden, my dreaming self starts scratching my scalp. Suddenly, I felt something. No, TWO somethings, sticking out of my scalp. OMG, I have TICKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TICKS in my HEAD!!!!!!!!!!!!! In my dream I start frantically trying to get hold of the tick's body to pull it out, but it's too slippery. Keeps sliding out between my fingers! So I move to the other one. Same thing. Can't grasp it!!!!!!!!!!!! So then I start tugging on my hair so hard that I woke myself up. I was in a sweat, freaking out, wondering, should I wake Jimmy up? Or can I handle this on my own? So I quickly went into the bathroom, flipped on the light and stared at myself in the mirror for a moment or two to compose myself before separating my hair to find these horrible miniature vampire-like critters with their heads embedded in my scalp, sucking the very life's blood out of me.

On the count of three... One... Two... Three. Separate hair. Stare in disbelief and then let out a huge sigh of relief as I realize my stupidity. I didn't have ticks after all. That was just a dream. I had been feeling something slippery though, but it was nothing more than the blue hair extensions Larry put in yesterday!! I was squeezing and pulling those bastards for all they were worth thinking they were bugs!!!!! If you've never seen a synthetic hair extension, it's put in with a kind of tape and glue right near the scalp. See?
Hey! While I was sleeping it really did feel like a bug sticking out of my head! Go ahead, you can laugh now, I won't hold it against you. But I tell ya what, it scared the bejeesus out of me at the time. I can't believe that I didn't realize what I had been pulling on when I first woke up. I literally didn't think about the extensions until I was starting straight at them. But now I can safely sing, "There ain't no bugs on me. There ain't no bugs on me. There may be bugs on some of your mugs, but there ain't no bugs on me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

P.S. Just looked down to find a moth in my coffee! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!





Pssst! If you love me, you might love my stupid sister more. Go visit her at Jill's Believe it or Not, and tell her I sent you!

Writer's Workshop: I Picked Up The Phone...

This week, for the first time ever, I am participating in Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  Each week she gives bloggers several different prompts to choose from and from there it's up to the writer.

The prompt I chose was,  

4.) I picked up the phone and I could not believe what I was hearing...


It was May of 1988 and my paternal grandmother had been suffering terribly with ovarian cancer for years. I had watched her erode from a robust, heavyset, spirited woman to a frail, shriveled, emaciated parody of herself. She was nothing but skin and bones except for her terribly bloated stomach.

I cannot describe the pain of being a 17-year-old girl, watching the sparkle of life actually dim from her eyes. Each time I saw her I knew I'd already lost another part of her spirit. She was unable to fight anymore, she didn't even want to.

I believe it was a Wednesday, May 26th, when Jimmy and I drove to the house to visit with her. She was not looking at all well and I had that gut feeling you sometimes get around a terminally ill person, when you know it's the last time you're going to see them alive.

When Grandma turned to Jimmy and told him to always take care of Justine, I knew it was the end. This was how she would say her goodbye.

Jimmy and I talked about it on the drive home. We both agreed that she would be gone within a few days. Part of me wanted to deny the knowledge, keep her with me as long as I could. Another part of me was urging her to let go, because she wasn't truly living anymore.

Two nights later, on the dawn of May 28th, the phone rang at 4:30 a.m. I picked up the phone and could not believe what I was hearing. But I could believe it. I did believe it, because I knew it was going to happen. I had been expecting it. But when I heard my aunt's voice sobbing, telling me Grandma had fallen in the bathroom and never woke up again, a piece of my soul withered and died, never to return again.

It was I, at 17 years old, that had to wake thee family to deliver the news. My aunt Barbara raced to our house and then her and I raced to the hospital to be with my other aunt, Grandma's daughter. Upon our arrival her and I asked to say our goodbyes to Grandma in private. To this day I'm still glad that I had the opportunity to say my final farewell before her body turned cold and stiff. She still looked like herself, just sleeping.  She was slightly cool to my gentle touch, her skin not as pliant as usual, but not yet chilled from death.

Twenty-one years later I still ache with missing her. She was one of the most influential people in my life. So many of my childhood memories are wrapped up in thoughts of Grandma.

Watching her stir sauce on the stove.

Eating grapefruit with sugar with her in the morning after I'd slept over.

Sleeping snuggled up with her, while Grandpa retired to the guest room for me.

Having musical fart extravaganzas before falling asleep.

Her reminders to wash my parsley very well each day.

Her admonition to never park next to a van, or else be snatched away.

Her making me sing You Light Up My Life over and over again.

Her 7 fishes Christmas Eve dinner.

Her scent; always lily of the valley

Holding on to her thumbs in the pool while she twirled in circles, singing, "D d d d d d d diet..."  (I never did find out why she sang about a diet.)


I went searching today and found a picture that is forever burned into my brain.  I hate this picture and I love this picture.

I love it because it's my old kitchen in NY and looking around the room brings back so many joyous memories.  (Hey Elizabeth, did you notice the plastic "popcorn" Santa on the wall?  I told you we had those!)  I love looking at the tins of Italian cookies and the demitasse cups; I love seeing that ugly old calendar hanging on the pantry door;  the disgusting wallpaper and formica cabinets and countertop; I love the fact that I look so much better than Jill in this picture.  In her defense, she was only 11.

I hate this picture because that is the look I mentioned earlier.  The look of anguish and despair in my grandmother's eyes.

This was our last Christmas with her, December of 1987.







I picked up the phone that day and didn't want to believe what I heard...






Pssst! If you love me, you might love my stupid sister more. Go visit her at Jill's Believe it or Not, and tell her I sent you!