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jdmkleinIf i believed in dreams having meaning, i might think i had a lot of anger in my head. i don't remember what it was i was dreaming about now. i did have memory of it when i woke up, but didn't do anything about it. Now, all i can remember is that it was a violent dream. Not bloody violent, like i had right after the divorce, but still i woke up this morning disturbed. i don't think it was a nightmare, i didn't wake up Master with whimpers or tears, but it was an uncomfortable dream. They don't happen very often, but when they do, i have a feeling that i can't quite define for the whole day or so following. Weird, eh?
i was making breakfast, brunch acutally, today and i mangaged to pick up a wet pot holder. Then i proceeded to use it to pick up the cast iron skillet. While the stoopit handle was burning hell out of my index finger, i was frantically trying to figure out how to get the skillet back on the stove without giving the rest of my body 3rd degree burns. i managed to avoid buring the rest of me, but my index finger and the heel of my hand are sporting some bright red spots. i ran cold water over my hand right away, then put some aloe on it. Then Master took me to the pharmacy, 2 of them actually, trying to find something to take away the burn. Nothing seemed to want to work. i spent most of the rest of the day with an ice cube wrapped in a rag wrapped around my finger. That was the only solution to keeping the burn from hurting. Finally i tried some aspirin creme. That took away the ouchie. It's just beginning to come back after about 4 hours.
Because i was hurting i wasn't very nice today. i yelled at Master when i couldn't get the video player in the living room to work. Then i groused again when He told me it was an NTSC player not a PAL player. The video tape was a PAL tape. i was impatient all day long, and all He was trying to do was make it better for me. There were moments when i know i had Him on His last nerve, but to His credit, He never lost His temper. He walked away once, and i thought i might have gone too far, but when He came back He said He was only trying to help and He hated it when He couldn't control the pain i received.
All of these things sort of tie together to form a thought i've been fussing over in my head today. i have never been one to sing out loud, or whistle, or hum. My daughter and son both do this. Master whistles while He works. My sister and mother both sing while they work. Many of my friends hum to themselves when they are involved in something. i seldom sing along with the radio, and for sure not in front of anybody. About the only time music is in my head is when i'm trying to sleep and some ugly song has planted itself into my brain.
i wonder why that is. Why do some people have music and others of us don't? Is it something that goes back to a different part of our lives? Did i used to be a singer/hummer/whislter and something happened to me that took that part of my nead out of me? And if it is and if it did, i wonder what it was and why it happened. Right now, Master is just poochin' around on His computer, He' s sort of watching a tv program, and He's whistling this tuneless little thing. i'm sure He isn't even aware of it. His whislting doesn't bother me, at least not the fact that He is doing it. What bothers me, in a curious way, is that He is doing it, and why i seem unable to. Is whistling, humming, whatever a sign of something that is in another's life, but is missing in mine? If i would ever stop having these violent dreams would i whistle while i work? Am i a sad, or angry or sick person and too unaware of myself to know it? Another weird thing.
The softball game tonight opened my eyes. i admit Master and i aren't the most sociable couple in this country. And, it's difficult to have Arab friends. i don't have much opportunity to interact with Arabs on a social basis. There is a man on Master's softball team. His mother is American and his father is Kuwaiti. He is past his mid-thirties, he mentioned tonight soon he will be married 18 years. He has four kids, one daughter, about 12, two sons 15 and 16 and one son who is 5 1/2. He is so good with those kids. He brings them out to the ball park without their mom. He always talks politely to them. i have never seen him yell or lose his patience with them. On the other hand, they are good kids. They run around and get a bit wild, but not hooligan wild. And they pay attention to where they are. If they get too close to the 'grown-ups' and are noisey, they move away so they don't bother the adults. Tonight i saw him take the youngest son's head in his hands, and tell him that later he would play ball with him. Then, wonder of miracles, the dad kissed the son.
That about blew me away. In a culture where any public show of affection is frowned upon, a father showing pure unadulterated love for a child really knocked me for a loop. i meant to tell him i liked the way he interacted with his kids. But things happened, and the perfect timing for something like that was lost. But M's actions with his son made me wonder just how many arab men are able to show those kinds of feelings for their children.
Who's journal did i read who said she'd lost 13 puonds? i wonder how the heck she did it. Tomorrow Master has said He will ride with me again. i suggested taking the bikes out to the campus and ride the ring road a couple of times. He suggested taking them to Ahmedi and riding around the neighborhood. Of course if we did that, He'd have to find a compass. That area is set out like an English countryside, with more twists and turns than a mountain road. Either a compass or a loaf of bread. Then we could play Hansel and Gretel and leave a trail of bread crumbs from the car.
Enough for tonight.
i was making breakfast, brunch acutally, today and i mangaged to pick up a wet pot holder. Then i proceeded to use it to pick up the cast iron skillet. While the stoopit handle was burning hell out of my index finger, i was frantically trying to figure out how to get the skillet back on the stove without giving the rest of my body 3rd degree burns. i managed to avoid buring the rest of me, but my index finger and the heel of my hand are sporting some bright red spots. i ran cold water over my hand right away, then put some aloe on it. Then Master took me to the pharmacy, 2 of them actually, trying to find something to take away the burn. Nothing seemed to want to work. i spent most of the rest of the day with an ice cube wrapped in a rag wrapped around my finger. That was the only solution to keeping the burn from hurting. Finally i tried some aspirin creme. That took away the ouchie. It's just beginning to come back after about 4 hours.
Because i was hurting i wasn't very nice today. i yelled at Master when i couldn't get the video player in the living room to work. Then i groused again when He told me it was an NTSC player not a PAL player. The video tape was a PAL tape. i was impatient all day long, and all He was trying to do was make it better for me. There were moments when i know i had Him on His last nerve, but to His credit, He never lost His temper. He walked away once, and i thought i might have gone too far, but when He came back He said He was only trying to help and He hated it when He couldn't control the pain i received.
All of these things sort of tie together to form a thought i've been fussing over in my head today. i have never been one to sing out loud, or whistle, or hum. My daughter and son both do this. Master whistles while He works. My sister and mother both sing while they work. Many of my friends hum to themselves when they are involved in something. i seldom sing along with the radio, and for sure not in front of anybody. About the only time music is in my head is when i'm trying to sleep and some ugly song has planted itself into my brain.
i wonder why that is. Why do some people have music and others of us don't? Is it something that goes back to a different part of our lives? Did i used to be a singer/hummer/whislter and something happened to me that took that part of my nead out of me? And if it is and if it did, i wonder what it was and why it happened. Right now, Master is just poochin' around on His computer, He' s sort of watching a tv program, and He's whistling this tuneless little thing. i'm sure He isn't even aware of it. His whislting doesn't bother me, at least not the fact that He is doing it. What bothers me, in a curious way, is that He is doing it, and why i seem unable to. Is whistling, humming, whatever a sign of something that is in another's life, but is missing in mine? If i would ever stop having these violent dreams would i whistle while i work? Am i a sad, or angry or sick person and too unaware of myself to know it? Another weird thing.
The softball game tonight opened my eyes. i admit Master and i aren't the most sociable couple in this country. And, it's difficult to have Arab friends. i don't have much opportunity to interact with Arabs on a social basis. There is a man on Master's softball team. His mother is American and his father is Kuwaiti. He is past his mid-thirties, he mentioned tonight soon he will be married 18 years. He has four kids, one daughter, about 12, two sons 15 and 16 and one son who is 5 1/2. He is so good with those kids. He brings them out to the ball park without their mom. He always talks politely to them. i have never seen him yell or lose his patience with them. On the other hand, they are good kids. They run around and get a bit wild, but not hooligan wild. And they pay attention to where they are. If they get too close to the 'grown-ups' and are noisey, they move away so they don't bother the adults. Tonight i saw him take the youngest son's head in his hands, and tell him that later he would play ball with him. Then, wonder of miracles, the dad kissed the son.
That about blew me away. In a culture where any public show of affection is frowned upon, a father showing pure unadulterated love for a child really knocked me for a loop. i meant to tell him i liked the way he interacted with his kids. But things happened, and the perfect timing for something like that was lost. But M's actions with his son made me wonder just how many arab men are able to show those kinds of feelings for their children.
Who's journal did i read who said she'd lost 13 puonds? i wonder how the heck she did it. Tomorrow Master has said He will ride with me again. i suggested taking the bikes out to the campus and ride the ring road a couple of times. He suggested taking them to Ahmedi and riding around the neighborhood. Of course if we did that, He'd have to find a compass. That area is set out like an English countryside, with more twists and turns than a mountain road. Either a compass or a loaf of bread. Then we could play Hansel and Gretel and leave a trail of bread crumbs from the car.
Enough for tonight.
