Sunday, February 2, 2014

Carnival Dreaming

Every now and then, I have what I tend to call "Carnival Dreams".  A series of fragments that flash around like you're on a carnival ride.  Last night was one of those.

So in the first section, we were traveling through a desolate arctic north when we came to my mother's victorian house.  She'd abandoned it when she fled south, but let us know we could use it when we got there.  We unlocked the door, and started a fire in the fireplace.  There was no such thing as regular electricity.  But we got the generator running so that we could run the washing machine and then the dryer to clean our travel stained clothing.  I realized that we'd brought all of our animals with us as I was admonishing them to go back outside to go potty as one of them started to squat over the hardwood floors.

Then I was part of a caravan traveling a spring laden future.  I was one of two identical twin women.  My sister had four children by four different men, though the man she was mated to (weddings didn't happen in this place) claimed father rights for the first three.  I myself had two children.  We were passing through a town that still had a grocery store and in the front, they had a laundry mat we were using to wash our clothes.  We all decided to go to the local festival, that included mud sliding in the rain.  As my sister went down, competiting for fastest speed, her mate watched her infant son, child of another man.  He briefly considered smothering this child, but couldn't stand to see him squalling in the rain so he picked him up and sheltered him and found he loved this child like he loved all of her children.  And then we were waiting for a helicopter to come pick us up but it landed on the other side of the fence and we had to walk our way through a Nazi Germany airshow, that showed all the aircraft and landcraft they had created for the wars, but it was abandoned and in disrepair, the hindenberg deflated and many a tire out of air or plane wings broken with age.  As we reached the helicopter

I was at an enormous school, practically a microcosm unto itself.  It was the orientation party at the beginning of the year and we were there for my boys to meet their new classmates and teachers.  The school nurse brought my youngest son to me and let me know that a bunch of his classmates didn't like that he had a nerf football to play with and in jealously, the lead girl had punched him, loosening a tooth while the other children egged her on and called names.  My youngest was crying.  I comforted him and asked the nurse to take me to the principal when he told me that the other children had just been left loose.  When I walked up to the Principal, he wasn't interested and though his nurse was too soft hearted.  They didn't have time for this.  I told him I didn't want the kids expelled or anything, I just wanted to talk to them to let them know these actions are not okay.  He blew me off and I asked if he'd have time for the police.  He decided he could spare the nurse, giving the poor kind young man a dirty look, and we went off to find the bullies.

And I was at home in my mother's Victorian house in the summer.  Looking at my youngest's tooth with my husband and we decided he needed to see a dentist.  But not today, as it was the big parade and festival.  As we walked outside to go to main street for the parade, we passed by the old fire house and I recognized it as the one in Woodstock, Virginia from when we lived there.  But here, now, it had been converted into a German style animatronic clock with large gears that on the hour would release a different scene through the fire doors.  It was 11:15, so there was no activity now, but I smiled to remember watching the clocks in Germany and looking forward to seeing what they would have here.  As we walked down to Main Street, I could hear the sounds of laughter and music and smell the street vendors and knew we were in for a treat when my alarm clock woke me up.

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