What Dreams May Come

I know I’m in the thick of it now…Tuesday, just before I woke, I dreamt an avalanche of parcels knocked me off my feet and buried me alive. I had a ring of sweat around my neck, and I was breathing heavily. I sat on the edge of my bed staring at the pile of Target, Amazon, and Kohl’s packages that began their takeover of the alcove of our bedroom. For a few anxious minutes I couldn’t tell what was real. Was I awake?

This past Tuesday was bookended with humbling, hilarious (In hindsight), and painful circumstances.

When walking to my van for work, I hit a patch of ice, and fell flat-backed on the concrete, sending my lunch bucket flying. Then I heard the contents splay on the driveway like a drumroll. I looked over and saw the equivalent of a bag-lady’s purse. You see, I carry no lunch in the bucket, just odd junk-drawer stuffs. Maybe a book. A brush. Lip balm. Keys. A thousand delivery notices with equal portions of pens. Toothbrush. Receipts. Wallet. Eyeliner. Not a stitch of food, unless cough drops count. I managed to peel myself off the ground and scoop the stuff back into my trash-can of a lunch pail.

I won’t mention the patch of ice was from a missing downspout from the corner of my garage. It sits leaning on the inside corner of my garage waiting to be reattached. The bent tube has been waiting since spring winds amputated it from its so-called fixed position.

That was the beginning of the day…

Fast forward to Eight O Dark. On one of my last rounds (It was like a boxing match you know), I stacked the seven parcels of odd sizes in a Jenga-type tower just outside my package car on the pavement.

Do you remember, when a child, you noticed the old men cinch up their trousers before sitting down? I never understood why they did that, unless argyle socks are something to show off. When playing on the living room floor I saw colorful socks with a pinch of hairy leg attached, and thought the view from the knees down was a world of its own.

Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh, yeah…

My pants were sagging a bit. Not low enough to expose anything or force a duck-waddle gait. Just hanging around, you know. The packages stood like a skyline under the streetlight. I crouched down to gather the load. That’s when I heard it. It echoed around the silent night, holy night. It seemed the seams gave way as I went low like a Sumo wrestler. If it were a scene in a movie, I could see the camera panning back and back and back as the riiiiiiiiip reverbed out into the universe.

Dramatic pause. Really. I just kinda froze for a moment, and tried to recall the made up curse words of the dad in A Christmas Story. Darn. As the cool air affirmed my demise I acquiesced to the rending of my garment. I sighed, then lifted, and hoofed the load to the doorstep. I rang the bell in a sprinters stance.

That was Tuesday, woken by a dream, and humbled by circumstance. Two more full weeks to go. Never dull. Never dull.

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5 thoughts on “What Dreams May Come

  1. Bet you can’t wait for the hectic pace imposed by people getting ready for Christmas to transition into Christmas Eve with it’s own tone and pace (if your being can make that drastic transition).

    • I think this is my 29th Christmas doing this and the transition is tough. It’s as if I can’t see Christmas for the Christmas Trees if your get my drift. Thanks Jasper.

      • Having been in education for 36 years. The 3 ‘short’ weeks on December was the most hectic month of the year: Christmas pageant practices, Christmas pageant dress rehearsals, Christmas pageant performance, then Christmas pageant performance again and warp up with Christmas caroling at a hospital. Hang in there…. almost there Jerry.

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