The Almost Raw Key Lime Cookie

You take a cup of raw cashews and put them in your food processor. My food processor sucks so bad I had to break it up into thirds. Then Medjool dates? Well, they were un-pitted, and had been in the refrigerator. The food processor could not chop these (after I had pitted them by hand). Fuck it. I let them come to room temperature. Then I just gave up and mushed them in by hand with the cashew flour. I’ve given up making bars at this point, way too messy. Next coconut, the shredded kind which is sweetened because you bought the Safeway store brand, but it’s okay because it’s sweetened with sugar and cane and coconut have yet to go GMO, so you cross fingers and hope it is okay. Okay. Now zest a lime. It’s not organic, but again, don’t have a lime tree. Add lime zest, juice the lime. Add the juice, now mush it all together. All together. Makes three big ass cookies. Good for the raw foodie needing more than 2,000 calories a day on cloudy winter days. Right, it’s spring, but since we had spring in winter, now we have winter in spring.

Someone else bid cash on the house. So another house is being looked at tomorrow. It has an electric stove. I hope it has gas hook-ups. Electric stoves are not for cooking, but lately I’ve only been toasting tortillas and frying eggs.

Frozen dates are kind of yummy. I forgot to say, you’re supposed to freeze the cookies.I am going to break down from this fruits, greens, eggs, nut thing soon. I don’t know what I want to eat, but I feel so hungry, and yet, most processed or cooked food makes me feel sick, so I don’t know if I should just be eating more. It seems like I should be okay calorie-wise on days I’m not training or working out, and it isn’t that cold but, hungry.

I had a dream where a bald eagle swooped down and almost grabbed me, but then accipiters have been in the forefront lately. So the U. S. is moving in for the kill, or at least I’m paranoid it is, but I narrowly avoid the talons in my shoulder because I stare the bird down. “Oh no, you don’t even…” He lands less than three feet from me. I’m scowling at the bird and then wake up.

Or have I refused the spiritual transcendence of the material world? This eagle was not like the condor in a similar dream I had where the condor came and swooped down upon me an suddenly I had merged with the bird and had magnificent wings. This bald eagle was not majestic, but shiest-y. It was like the turkey vulture I had seen on my walk that evening. I had looked it dead in the eye. “I am alive. I am alive, and bigger than you. You cannot take me. I am not the one you are looking for.” No, this bald eagle was a prop of the dark ones. It’s all gotten so trite that I’ve become lackadaisical in dream time. Like, “Okay. Let’s see what you’re going to pull tonight. I know this is not real, and if you piss me off enough, or creep me out, I’m just going to wake up.” But a better question, why are the dark ones in my dream? Why don’t I want to travel other places? The primary answer to the 2nd question is that there is no one there. The place from which I came truly does not exist any longer, so visiting home is not really an option anymore. I’m also no longer trying to escape from anything in particular, nor am I temporarily filling in the roll of anyone else. I’m just this flat sort of observer. I watch the dark ones mutilate loved ones and send creatures to attack me and I sigh lamely or wake up.

Since really lucid dreaming is the norm for me, you’d think I’d want to experience awesome things, see awesome places, or visit people. But instead I just am singing, as though I had a voice like Jasmine Sullivan, Ray Charles, Keshia Cole, or Sam Cooke.

oh no! you cannot harm me! you cannot, one who has a song like mine.

There are the sleepers.

There are the struggle-rs, bright, blazing, passionate stars.

There are those who have arrived, calm, reserved, quiet. They appear apathetic to the untrained, to the sleepers, but they are somehow wise in their hands-off approach.

Okay. I’m here, now what? Somehow it’s not as fun as the struggle, but there is no going back to sleep to struggle again.

Love Forever, Love is Free

I’m not sure where to start, because I failed to write this down immediately. Taylor was bothering Mr. X. It was as though my remaining love for him had become disingenuous because it had initially been won through emotional manipulation, but Taylor had Teagan. It seemed like we were at the bottom of the stairs between the first and second floor at the Art House, but I’m not sure. I said something like, “No, you can’t kiss me that way anymore, and besides I can tell you’re irritating Mr. X. You should probably go home. I’ll see you when the visit with Teagan is over.”

So then Mr. X and I left what I think was the Art House with Teagan to meet my sister and Michelle at a place like the IHOP in Racine. Adam met us there later. It began to get very dark out. When we went into the parking lot to leave there were four black horses, bigger than draft horses, like the four horse of the Apocalypse, but parked in parking stalls. There was a little demon. It looked sort of like a large fetus or a living amphibian gargoyle, think an albino Golum with vampire dentition, utterly ghastly. It’s skin was translucent and you could see red blood moving through it’s veins. I felt like the demon was after Teagan and the whole scene was a sign of impending doom. It was dark like a tornado, getting on toward sunset, but all was calm.

Michelle departed our party. Adam, my sister, Mr. X, Teagan and I went to an unknown house in some place that felt like California. It felt the the big house in the green place, with the open atrium and the picture windows. Mr. X thought it was okay that Adam came along because he could tell that the love between us was innocent and genuine. He respected Adam and they were becoming friends.

My sister, Adam and I were with Teagan in a room like the nursery at Trinity. Teagan began trying to put his hand down my pants. I immediately reprimanded him. “I’m your mother. You can’t touch me that way! What has Michelle been teaching you?” Adam reprimands him as well. I’m thinking, “This visit was a horrible idea. I should have just left you with your stupid biological mother.” My sister takes over watching Teagan then and Adam and I leave.

Then we are in a bathroom, like the bathroom at the quad box and Adam or Mr. X has a laptop and is watching a You Tube video on the clinical, epidermal manifestation of herpes. I pull down my pants and sort of spread my labia and ask, “Can you tell that I have herpes?” They’re both like, “um, no.” I’m like, “but look at these red dots.” They’re both like, “That could be from shaving,” and Mr. X adds, “Or prickly heat rash.” The video is continuing on how to identity a herpes sore and ways to prevent spreading herpes: check your partner for sores before intercourse, use condoms, always inform your partner of any STDs you have…blah blah blah. I say, “Well it would have been nice if someone had bothered to inform me.” Adam mumbles, “Me too.” Say what? So then it becomes instantly understood that that is why nothing further happened back in 2004/2005. I say, “I just thought you hated me. That, or you were gay.” Adam says, “Nope. Nope. It was the herps…”

So then we go have sex, which Mr. X approves of, because he is getting to be friends with Adam, and has no interest in sex, but knows that I’ve been on the edge for several months. But that act isn’t really part of the dream, it’s panned out and the important part is afterward. Adam is sitting in a wingback chair and I am sitting in his lap.

Adam: So we really have a lot of work to do, don’t we? I’ve kind of let this go for too long.

Me: That’s okay. If I were you, I wouldn’t even be here now. I’m just all like, “Oh knight in shining armor and crap.”

Adam: Well, yeah, you were, but we should probably start planning where we are going next, because we won’t be here that much longer.

So I mention to Adam about the figure skating, and the wildland fire fighting, and that I have not yet spent as much time as I like with Mr. X, and that of course I want him to come, and that I want him to still be an important part of my life, how I really want to break down the idea of nuclear family like Burroughs said in the forth lesson and experiment with the tribe level of interaction, even though at the same time I wanted to still be sure to travel with my nuclear soul family.

We both look at each other and think, “Emily!” and wonder why she is not there.

Adam: I have no idea if she will even want to travel with me as you do. Maybe she has had all she likes of her original dream.

I just shrug my shoulders.

Then we go to the kitchen, which is exactly like the quad box kitchen, but presumably is in the the big house in the green place. Adam helps Mr. X prepare a chicken and stuff it with onions. I think how cute it is that they are cooking together. We can hear my sister and Teagan elsewhere in the house.

Then I am upstairs in a different house, a Victorian house. It is dark. Outside it is windy. There is a grandfather clock at the top of the stairs, but I do not hear it ticking. No one has wound it in years. There are pictures hung of strangers on the wall of the staircase. There is a wooden baluster along the open side. I am sacred and start running down the stairs calling out,”Matthew! Matthew!” I get to the bottom of the stairs and there is Adam.

Adam: What? What’s wrong?

Me: But you… but you’re not…

Adam grabs me and kisses me and in that moment I know that he is Matt. The living room has an old style radio and a green plush chair with cream colored crocheted lace doilies. Adam has a record case with 45s. He asks me if I’d like to check out his rockabilly collection. All the labels on the 45s are yellow or red.

Me: Rockabilly? When did you start listening to rockabilly?

Adam: Well, you know, it’s a natural extension from punk and Johnny Cash to rockbilly.

Me: Well, wow. Really? I have some rockabilly 45s too, and some LaVern Baker.

I am thinking this certainly doesn’t fit in with the Matthew/Kansas City timeline, nor my understanding of our present timeline. IT certainly has distracted me from whatever it was that I was scared of. The explanation of why rockabilly doesn’t seem to fit. I wonder if Mr. X will like us listening to rockabilly records. Somehow I don’t feel electroclash follows to rockabilly either.

We are back in the big house in the green place and my 1964 Zenith stereo cabinet is there. We can smell the chicken cooking. Fades out, or I can’t remember in between.

Somehow we are on a train. We are traveling west through the Great Plains, the great American desert. It looks like Wyoming. The landscape is brown and the sky is a washed out blue. Michelle is in a car in front of us, but my sister, Mr. X, Adam, Teagan, and I are back in a box car with the door open. Teagan is wearing shorts, or at least his legs are bare. He is standing in front of the door. He starts saying, “I want to get off the train,” but before I can rush forward to grab him and pull him back, he jumps as we are moving at a very fast pace through a railyard. The other tracks are slightly downhill from where our train is. Teagan jumps and immediately breaks his neck and splits his skull open on one of the adjoining rails. I can see blood. “Oh shit!” I think. “Michelle is going to kill us.”

Then I wake up.

So goes yet another dream in which people I love get maimed or dismembered. This one didn’t leave me with quite the nasty feeling that many of these dreams do, but it wasn’t typical of them. It was more than The Dark, TM trying to terrorize me. This is making plans to move out of Armageddon with interference from The Dark TM. There were many other disturbing and bizarre elements, but it wasn’t typical of those types of dreams.

Projections of End Times

In my dream last night, I stopped at a ghetto store and got three packs of cigarettes and some Trident gum. There was a message for me at the store from Ken. Then I go to my parents’ house and my very good friend gave birth to her daughter (due in November) in front of my parents’ house. Bam! She just popped out. My friend was a little disappointed that her husband had missed the special moment. Before we cut the cord, she asked, “Should I put her back in?”

Nadeanna, “Uh, no, she’s born now.”

Friend, “Maybe we could put her in this hub cap here.” Trying to take the hubcap off my fofo to reveal a secret compartment.

Nadeanna, “Naw, I mean she’s here. I think we should just cut the cord and you can both go inside, take a bath, stay warm, feed her, relax. E. is on his way.”

So she concedes. We cut the cord. All hell starts breaking lose. The wind picks up and weird shit starts happening in the sky, think the Norwegian blue spiral, but more than one. So we quickly get inside. The bath tub has been freshly cleaned, to my relief, because I was not about to let this new baby bathe in the same place as my dad with his chronic staff infection without sanitizing it first.

My sister and dad are there. I think that my sister had seen us birthing the baby outside on the sidewalk and had cleaned the bathroom during the very, very brief labor. My dad is freaking out about the sky phenomena. He is flipping through the news channels, scanning radio stations on the old portable radio in the kitchen… I was like, “What, what is going on? Is it okay if [my friend] takes a bath, or did you clean it to fill with water?”

We decide that it’s okay for my friend to take a bath. My dad is still freaking out. We’re waiting for my mom, my friend’s husband, and Mr. X. My dad is waiting for earthquakes or something. Everyone outside is still freaking out. My mom gets home and is like, “Oh! Look at the baby!” And with this ‘what the hell happened, she just started going into labor when I left work’. So my mom says how weird the sky is and how cold it’s getting and how people are running around like werewolves and maniacs, screaming, and running through the streets. I get online on my labtop and everything is down. The Internet is still working, but everything is blocked or giving 404 errors or whatever. So I’m still like, “Should I fill water bottles or what?” I’m trying to find my camel pak. Jeremy gets there. We go down into the basement to check out the shelter situation. I’m like, “Look Mr. X, it’s the size of two shipping containers!” The basement is completely empty except for a broken wood burning stove over an old, broken toilet in the southeast corner of the basement. Mr. X and I decide that just in case something is happening, we should go to the campground, being stuck inside is not a good plan. Mr. X chastises me for not having my water full, but the water is still running and the power is still on. We fill all the jugs we can find. Mr. X, my sister and I leave in my car. We can’t find a baby car seat and decide that my friend’s mom or her husband should come get her with her car and new car seat. We will meet at the campground because it’s not really an emergency, but just a government projection to create mass hysteria. Since we all realize it’s an illusion, we are not affected to the same degree as those that are naive and illogical. We have trouble convincing my dad, but he’s like, “Okay. The power is still on.”

When we get to the campground I fill the remaining jugs. There is an older woman with longish silver hair and blue eyes. who I’ve never met before, but feel that I know, and a younger guy with short dreads, also who I’ve never met before, but feel I know. My Milwaukee family is there, but without my son, and Jeremy’s kids are there, but without their mother. There are a few other families, maybe several dozen people in total. Everyone is very calm and we begin set up camps and start coming up with future food and water procurement plans. Mr. X has his water filter.


All I’ve got is water is important and Mr. X is making me crazy with the disaster prepared-ness and shipping container house thing. Possibly, something insane is going to happen in November, but my ability to predict the future pretty much disappeared in 2009. Also Ken is still important in emissary guardian messaging. There are definitely house cleaning elements to this dream, so while it’s crazy, and I was slightly disturbed by it, I’m not taking too much stock in it.

Does this mean I have to go back to Pike River?

Go Pack, Go!

Most Recent Farewell

Taylor is trying to get down his swagger, but it looks ridiculous.

You strut across the room and stop inches from my chair. You nailed it, perfect. Not even Johnny Depp could have a better pirate swagger.

Nadeanna: I miss you!

You: It was good to see you.

Nadeanna: It was good to see you too, but I never get to see you!

You (leaning in close to whisper in my ear): That’s so you don’t get addicted to me.

Ensue internal animie waterworks, giant eyes, what have you. Mundane banter over where you shall go and what I am doing. Next part, I’m pruning vegetation, but with like a giant hedge trimmer, not pruning shears, because my pruning shears are still in route from Oregon. There’s a big archway of English Ivy I’m training. It is shady and cool and the place reminds me of Paddy’s, but bigger.

This is playing over the stereo/intercom as you walk out the door.

Then it goes on with toddlers and kitties and water, involving cleaning and mattresses with rubber sheets and planning trips over winter mountain passes: don’t really have time to write that out.

Mr. X turned down some wrong cul du sac on the way home and I almost got arrested…

All I want to eat is tomato sandwiches.


I know I shouldn’t be a whiner, that it doesn’t really do much good, but we only have 2,000 signatures. Our goal is 9,000, and we only have until September 3rd! I guess I will have to go canvas, and that will kill me. I can’t stand all the apathy and hate. I doubt that very many people in my neighborhood are registered to vote or even give a fuck about food. The amount of people not registered to vote, who do not care to vote is really appalling, but then it’s still in my collective memory of how my great-grandmothers weren’t even afforded that privilege or responsibility. I guess no one wants to be responsible for anything (including me). I am so fucking tired and I have to clean up the mess of my parents’ generation and I’m just a little bitter this morning.

There is no way, no how, that anyone, ever, is going to convince me that money is not evil. Mr. X, and lots of other people say it is only the love of money which is evil. Nope, sorry, money has to go. Bye-to-the-mother-fucking-bye. Peace out, it was a bitch to know you. All of everyone’s problems began with money. It allows for the false accumulation of wealth and is just utterly ridiculous.

I had this really cool dream, from which I was of course awoken, by neighbors, screaming about money enslavement issues. I think I ought to make it a requirement that no low-vibe people can stay in or visit this building. Being woken up in the middle of the night over a $45 down payment… Seriously? Fuck money. Fuck it!

Anyway, I dreamed that I had gotten some schrooms, but like at a store, like from Trader Joes. They were sold just like dried fruit, in the little plastic Ziploc-type bags. I’m in this urban basement with a large flat screen T.V. and people are watching something like the newer live-action Peter Pan, but not that, just like it. One dude says these schrooms are awesome and I will be seeing lights jump off the ceiling, that they are a really visual trip. Somehow Jubal is there and he agrees to be my trip-sitter/guide and take them with me, but he wanders off with some other folks about a half hour into it. I remember looking in a mirror and my pupils are huge, round and black. Looking into the mirror was like a portal or crystal ball. I could see Emily looking back at me. Then I was like, “ugh! Jubal, I might not be hallucinating, but this is a profoundly shamanistic experience. How am I supposed to get back to my car, drive, or be out in public with saucer eyes?” I started exploring this labyrinth of underground urban area, and then the fucking neighbor wakes me up. Well, I have never before schroomed in a dream, and it was pretty fucking rad. I also felt a profound love for my star siblings.

I don’t know how we will ever make it. I am so tired! So tired! So disgusted! When do I get to be a woman and not a warrior? Shouldn’t I care about protecting our open space? Why do only such a small percentage of people care?!? It’s really important!

But I am very, very glad that Mr. X is home and has two days off.

I think I am taking a bath this morning even though I need to wash my hair. I also need to soak and sweat.

We’re having October weather already. I heard geese down by the creek this morning.

Look Guys…

We are not doing this…… not….. not…. not….

Along with my practice of eliminating negation, because I’ve come to understand negation doesn’t work, but it is like this omnipresent force.

My parents are so negative, pessimistic,  and unsupportive. It’s really hard for me to believe that they wanted me. I have so much extra work to do and extra emotional drain because I don’t have the support of my parents and I was raised by emotional retards. Is it any wonder I turned out crazy? I very much doubt I will ever see any of my family again.

I am contemplating life without vehicular transportation. It makes me want to cry. If no one had cars, I might enjoy riding my bike. If I sell my car, I might be able to afford a skate board. I asked for this, probably, but dealing with it sucks. It just sucks.

I dreamed about the Gulf of Mexico. Jeremy was with me. There was a geologist taking some other people on a tour of tidal pools or something. Jeremy stayed on the shore and was taking pictures of me. I decided to wade in, but didn’t want to take my shoes off, so I just let them get wet. Then the tide started coming in and the waves were getting bigger and I was afraid to go any deeper, that the waves or rip tide would take me away. Maybe this dream indicates that I feel that Jeremy wants me to focus on handling my emotions. Tide coming in, in a dream represents increasing emotional energy. To be on the beach going into the ocean, but looking back towards the beach as the waters get rough and the tide comes in is all about the blade dance and mastering the space between mind and matter, where heart and soul meet. The geologist and tour group could mean that I’m letting rationality and objectivity wander away from me to be with my emotions and to be in the liminal state at the boundary’s edge. A really beautiful dream.

In a way I feel I have quarantined myself. I feel like I could be the rip tide to anyone I perceive as carrying more light than me, or struggling through life, but honestly and genuinely. I see myself as a distraction to others, just as I perceive certain other people to be a distraction to me. I never had a family with love. I tried to adopt a tribe to fill in the void and lack of love that should have come from my family. Then the world rips away my tribe blah blah blah

So I have to go back back back to a core foundation. Right now my really most important thing in my life is this relationship with Jeremy. Dunsmuir was like the crucible of personal salvation and rehab from the horrors Milwaukee laid upon me, but now it’s like if I am ever going to get through to what I really want, it’s going to be through this relationship. It’s really weird because it’s truly the interdependence for which I have strived, with a conscious awareness of need and appreciation.

I want to go beyond love…

From the Heavens She Came

In my dream, there was a giant bird, at least with a giant windspread, I was in what looked like my parents’ yard, but I’d also been convinced in my mind that I was still somewhere at home… anyhow, back to the action. The wingspan of this bird blocks out the sun above. Everyone was wowed. My mom, my sister were out there, Teagan, and I felt like someone Dustin or Ben had introduced me to from Happy Camp. My dad, Jeremy, Liz, Taylor, and the girls were staying somewhere in the house or nearby but weren’t outside. The bird began swooping down, and as it got closer and closer, I put my arms up  to protect my neck and crouched down. This enormous black bird landed on me, but did not attack me. The man from Happy Camp was like, “That’s very sacred.” I was debating releasing the bird at the lake (Lake Michigan) or going up to Keswick dam (!?!) to release her, but a severe thunderstorm was impending. We could already see the clouds darkening the sky and feel the wind begin to shift.

After deciding that I could not release the bird as seemed proper to me, the bird still clung to my presence and draped herself around my shoulders, transforming from a condor to a creature slightly more elegant with an incredible black and red design on her back feathers.

Upon waking I feel as though it’s a condor-phoenix symbol. The most powerful moment in the dream is when the bird swooped down and “chose” me, rather than my adoptive son. Together the bird changed me into a powerful shaman through her symbolism and I changed her from a carrion-eater, reliant upon flesh, to a mythical phoenix and symbol of rebirth.


I found what appears to be a Phidippus audax in my kitchen pretty much immediately upon my arriving home from work Thursday or maybe it was Friday, after Jeremy left for a fire. At first I was freaked out because it’s big and creepy looking, and I thought it might be poisonous because of that spot Jeremy had on his arm. I’m not convinced it was herpes or shingles or poison oak, but he never went to the doctor and it healed up, so… Anyway, I tried to catch the spider, but I couldn’t. I didn’t see it yesterday, but it was back again this morning while I was making fry bread.

Why was I making fry bread? Yesterday I hiked 16 miles, a personal record, on the South Fork National Recreation Trail in Trinity County. I thought of making doughnuts when I woke up, but it seemed like a pain. I went for fry bread instead, which is still a messy pain, and I lost the recipe when my hard drive crashed back in 2008 that I’d had before that was a combination of my grandmother’s recipe and some Internet recipe. The first batch I tried this morning was a complete failure. Then I tried one with more baking powder and sour milk instead of water. Almost. The texture was still not quite right, but… I think maybe I’m supposed to add sugar or butter? Or maybe buttermilk instead of sour milk. Anyhow…

So then once I figured out this creepy bug just wants to hang out on the kitchen wall and hunt tiny bugs, I’m like, “Okay. I guess it’s scared of the broom and as long as it will hide when I am sitting at the kitchen table, as long as I can scare it, it can stay until Jeremy can catch it because I cannot catch this thing.”

Then I got to thinking about spider totems, and if that might be Jeremy’s totem, because I haven’t really been able to place him, and then I feel like the spider shows up to protect me while he’s gone because I felt very uneasy to be alone. Wednesday night had been very scary for me. I wanted to kill this spider. That was my initial reaction, but it’s like an answer to a prayer. I was going to kill it, and it’s a blessing. Yet another example of how the darkness is within and attitude and perception make all the difference.

Yesterday was magical. I love the Trinity area. I’m in love with it. I went back to Scott’s Flat after two years. Everything was so much greener than it had been in June of 2009. It was like just spring, rather than the peak of summer, strawberries just starting to bloom versus picking the last fruit. Then we hiked along the South Fork National Recreation Trail. It’s pretty easy, but I haven’t done anything over 8 miles since like October, and I’m still working on breaking in the boots. I was tired as all get out last night, and I am quite stiff today, but the blisters are pretty inconsequential.

Um… so I guess we’re in the 4th day of the 9th wave of the Mayan calendar thing. The 3rd night sucked. I’m glad it’s over, and yesterday was awesome.

Seems I dreamed something about those in power will fall in July, it was marked on an ordinary wall calendar – Obama and Walker energy signatures were communicated to me – and so I ought to really ENJOY the 4th day and recharge because chaos is soon on it’s way to kick my ass, yet again. This is where the doughnuts came in. Because the old school doughnut-eating law enforcement officers are also going to fall, and really people that do what humans were made to do, walk, are the ones that have the ability to eat doughnuts. So then I wanted to make fry bread to get in touch with my roots, and here’s where the spider comes in. Get it?

Grandmother spider, Cherokee frybread, Grandmother’s “flap jack” recipe, black and white? Ha!

So we’ll see if I make it to Cloverdale this evening. I am still not bathed and I have yet to clean up the fry bread mess.

Okay, great!

Curtin Mansion

The Sonora plot thickens as a rare thunderstorm strikes Redding.

Surely, Universe, you brought this up on my radar for a reason.

I am fairly certain this is the house I dreamed about this morning.

I won’t go into vast, and insane details, but I just want to be able to live here and take part in the restoration.

I’m going to promptly forget this and go make brownies or something, but…

Update 9 AUG 2011

Weird that this page has two hits this week and I was thinking about writing a letter to Lee Adler, begging him to buy it, and offering to do my best to assemble a crew to begin the restoration, and that I myself would do the work to ensure that the restoration was done to the Secretary of the Interior’s standards and write up the nomination paperwork for it to get on the National Register of Historic places.

In fact on Sunday I was just thinking about this house and its fate. It seems that it was purchased shortly after I had the dream and wrote this post in March. Indeed the plot thickens, so to whoever was looking, if you comment on this, I will help with the National Register nomination.

Honda Honda

Apparently I purchased an old, used Toyota Corolla because the Fofo was really sketching out on me. I recall being by the bluffs along Lake Michigan, reminiscent of South Mil, Katy and Amber were there. The cars were parked in some strange spot in some old lady’s driveway to get them off the street, but then there was this copper/burnt orange colored like 1980 Honda Civic and someone said it was for me. It had under 120,000 miles on it. I asked Amber to move it for me, down the hill to the house we were actually staying in, and out of this lady’s driveway. I was moving the fofo and Corolla. Once it was moved I was like, “So does it run?”

A:  “Yeah.”

me: “And it’s all smooth and nice?”

A” “Yeah it seems fine. Try it yourself when you get time.”

So I’m all excited and Mr. X comes and I’m like, “Check out this Honda!” which by now I had morphed into a cross between the CRX and CRV. A 4-wheel drive Civic? Didn’t Subaru or Volvo have something like this back in the day? I think the car must’ve been manual, so that’s why Amber moved it and why I needed Mr. X to take me for a test drive.

Anyhow, weird. Mr. X interprets the dream as my having 3 craptastic alternatives, with one being slightly better and able to replace the most craptastic alternative that is currently running. One which I can barely afford to purchase, which is the “back-up” or becomes the back-up and one which is given to me, which is really not what I need, but is better than what I have.

+scratches head+

Winter has returned to the north valley. It will remain dark for several days. I get to drive to work because it’s raining.

I need to go to the library to copy an article.

I really want to have the day off to bake and nap, but probably I should get in, do what I can do, and go to the library afterward.

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