carose59: amusements (a medley of extemporanea)
To This Day, No One Knows The Plot Of The Terror."*

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So, I was going through stuff in my room and I found a bracelet that belonged to my paternal grandmother. She had very gaudy taste in jewelry, but this is one I'm fond of—it's a charm bracelet, with something like Italian charms on it, and it's kind of eccentric. I don't know why it was in my room—I don't keep my jewelry in my room—but there it was, in a small jewelry store box. I took it out and looked at it. Then I set it down on the bed to go back to what I was doing, and it vanished.

No, really. It completely disappeared. It's not on the bed, under the bed, or on the floor next to the bed. If it's gone farther afield, I have no idea how it did this. This happened over a week ago and I've looked for it several times. The box is on the floor, empty.

And Meg had nothing to do with it. He wasn't there when it happened and he's really not that interested in inanimate toys—except string. His favorite toy is the drawstring from an old pair of sweatpants.

On the other hand, when I turned over my mattress the other day, I found Pat's bathrobe. This makes about as much sense as the vanishing bracelet. The bathrobe was in the middle of the bed between the mattress and box spring and either I put it there or somebody who broke into my house did it. (Pat had nothing to do with it. She couldn't have managed it, and even if she could, I've worn the robe since she died.)

So I'm left with wondering why I lifted up the mattress and hid a bathrobe under it.


Maybe it really was one of the people who broke into my house. Maybe it was the Jesus guy.

See, the last time it happened, when I was walking through the house, I stepped on something sharp. It was one of the little spikes that holds Jesus to the crucifix. I only own one crucifix, the one they used when my maternal grandfather died; I've had it ever since. At the time I couldn't locate it, so I thought whoever broke in had stolen the cross but left Jesus, so I assumed it was a Protestant.

But I've since found that crucifix. So now I have an extra Jesus. He's in a pencil cup because I don't know what to do with him. You can't just hang him on a wall without a cross, and making a cross and putting him on it seems wrong. He seems happy with the pencils.

And all my assumptions about whoever broke in have been shattered. Who comes into your house to hide your bathrobe and leave Jesus on the floor to stab you in the foot?


*Jack Nicholson

Two dreams

Wednesday, 30 March 2016 08:29 pm
carose59: dreams (whose mind watches itself)
"I Own The Gorilla! The Gorilla Says Yes!"*

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I don't get either one of these at all.

Last night I dreamed I lived in a big apartment with several other people including Emily and Penelope from Criminal Minds and Laine, who I work with. Other people from Criminal Minds were hanging around, and were very happy to see Emily.

We all kept our jewelry on racks and hangers in one big room. We didn't share jewelry; we just kept it all in the same place. It looked like a jewelry store.

Laine was showing us these shamrock earring she had. There were three of them, one with a small white dot on it. Laine told us that the third earring was something you got when you worked in a bank—I think it was American Fletcher National Bank, which doesn't even exist anymore and hasn't for some time. She was puzzled by it, because she couldn't remember ever having worked in a bank. (What's even stranger is, Laine doesn't have pierced ears—which I know—and I don't think she wears earrings.)

There were also two cats living with us. They were both big and fluffy long-haired black and white cats. One of them was perfectly ordinary-looking, but it was from outer space. The other one had very strange paws. They were shaped like stars. This cat, however, was a regular cat. Although I think both of them talked, because they were the ones who told me one of them was from outer space. They took me over to the window to show me which planet it was.

I did recognize the earrings—I have a pair kind of like them, only with dangles. They used to be Pat's

-:- -:- -:- -:-

The other night I dreamed about a circus act. There were three elephants and a monkey. I have no idea what they did, but the owner of the circus kept saying, "It was supposed to be three monkeys and an elephant, not three elephants and a monkey! What kind of act is that?"

I have some strange people in my dreams.


*The Gorilla Owner, Stand-In
carose59: PLS (moses supposes his toeses are roses)
"No. No, No Please, I'd Rather Stay Out Here. What's—What's That? Lilacs? No. No, It Couldn't Be. It's Two Weeks Early. Guess I—Guess I Always Wanted To Rush The Lilacs."*

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When she died, all she left behind was a small silver ring.

It almost fit my little finger, so I took it to a jeweler to have it resized. (It was the same jeweler we took both rings to to have them engraved.) The girl who helped me warned that stretching it could break the ring’s pattern. I told her it didn’t matter, the pattern was already broken, I just needed to wear the ring.

And I wore the ring. I lost it twice, and thought I lost it one other time. It frightened me when it happened, I cried. But I still wore it, because you don’t put something you love in a box unless it’s dead.

So I wore it. It clicked against my own ring, and when I took them off, I always put the little ring inside the big one, to protect it.

Yes, I took them off. We both took them off. She wasn’t even wearing hers when she died; her hands had been cold and it kept slipping off. (Should that have told me something, her hands being cold? Are cold hands a harbinger of death?) We didn’t play silly games like acting as though taking off the rings was a betrayal of some kind. Sometimes my ring would hurt my hand; sometimes it would be so cold, our fingers would shrink and the rings would want to slide off. We’d take them off for safekeeping.

But mostly, we wore them.

Mostly, I wore them.

Until yesterday morning, when I woke up and the little ring was gone.

I stared at my hand and thought, Why did I take it off? Because it seemed that in my sleep I had taken off the little ring.

I stripped the bed. I searched around the bed. I looked in the car and drove to the grocery, just in case it happened earlier than I thought.

I wondered if she had come to take it back, to take it away from me because I don't deserve to wear her ring.

I cried.

I talked to my cousin, about how hard it was, that my house is such a mess and that my eyes aren’t working that well right now—one cataract surgery down, one to go, no glasses to help me see the world, making searching just about impossible.

My cousin, whose house is as big a mess as mine, commiserated.

And that’s when I realized that, while the ring is not on my finger, it is in my house. I’m not wearing it, but I am living with it.

My ring is lonely, but my mind is quiet. The little ring is free.


When she died, all she left behind was a small sliver bird. For nearly ten years, I held the little bird close to my heart, until yesterday it flew away.


*Sam Crandall
carose59: dreams (whose mind watches itself)
"I Was Moved, But Not Far."*

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First, Pat (who had not been dead) and I went to Poland to get her a diamond engagement ring. I don't know why Poland; in the dream, I don't think I even knew we were going there, and after a very short time, I wanted desperately to go home. We never seemed to be staying anyplace—we were outside all the time, or in lobbies or shops or restaurants. And it looked like Poland was still in the 1930's, and it was winter.

Pat found a lovely ring, and the jeweler told her she could wear it for a week to see if she liked it. Only, that meant staying a week, and I really wanted to go home. I kept looking at a map, drawing routes for how to get back—apparently we had driven? only we didn't have a car, and I couldn't figure out a way to drive back. We'd have to take a plane, and how exactly had we gotten there in the first place? I kept asking Pat, but she was very involved with her soon-to-be ring and not paying much attention to me.

Then it was Switzerland, and Ingrid Bergman. She was quite young, and very sick, and had come to a base camp on the Swiss Alps to see a world renowned doctor, who was climbing the mountain. He examined her in a tent and told her to go to the hotel and wait for the messenger, he'd send her the results of his tests—such as they were.

After she'd gone, something happened to the doctor. I think he was shot with an arrow. He was lying in the snow, bleeding, and he told the messenger not to tell Ingrid she was dying, because apparently if she didn't know she was dying, she wouldn't actually die. "One of us should live," the doctor said nobly, before dying in the messenger's arms.


*Mr. Straussman

July 2017

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