Some mornings, I come to consciousness with the dreams from my sleeping hours still swirling thick around my head. Other mornings, remnants of my dreams are completely absent, as if I spent my sleep sitting cross-legged, clearing my brain and chanting “om.” Yet other days, the dreams are initially absent but then trickle back, like postcards mailed to yourself from faraway places.
That’s how it’s been today. I woke up this morning to classic music playing on the radio and Scott gently nudging me with his knee (his way of reminding me that I promised to take the first shower this morning and let him sleep for a few extra moments). I bathed, dressed and made breakfast, without any thought to dreams. My thoughts were happily occupied with plotting out my workday tasks and cramming in visits to new babies and a CSA pick-up.
It wasn’t until I was at work this morning, spooning yogurt and fruit into my mouth, that I remembered the previous night’s dream. In it, one of my front teeth had become alarmingly loose. I kept trying to cram it back into place, but it would always return to a precarious dangle. Eventually it fell right out. In the dream I despaired, but then shrugged and continued on with my day.
Later, as I read an article about a man who ate for just $1 a day for 100 days, another dream drifted to the surface. In it, I was staying in a house with two apple trees in the backyard. The apples were ripe, but no one was picking them. I announced that we should make sauce or jam or pies, and everyone acted as if I was crazy.
“Don’t you know that apples grow everywhere around here?” they asked. “They are best for throwing, not for eating.”
Despite their protestations and long stairs, I bent to pick the windfall apples. I would show them.