I had another weird dream last night. The majority of the action took place in some Florida hotel (the setting was probably a Florida hotel because Anita was telling Elisabeth and me the other day about how she was looking forward to the upcoming cruise trip that those in the Reynolds Arts Department - who could afford it - were going on in the next few days). I'm pretty certain that we were in Miami, Orlando, or some other big city; we certainly weren't in Naples. I was staying in the hotel with a group of students from my school, though I cannot specifically pick out the students that I encountered at various points in the dream.
The hotel was very tall and long; each of the many floors consisted of a red-carpeted, dark wood-paneled hallway with almost a hundred rooms branching off of it. In between the silver-numbered doors, windows framed by flowing lace curtains overlooked the bustling night scene of whatever city we were in. The hotel possessed that odd excitement that causes one to inexplicably want to race down the hallways and jump in the elevators.
Seized by this same odd euphoria, I discarded my luggage on the non-descript twin bed of the room that I was sharing with some other girls whom I don't remember. I wore flip flops, but the carpet of the hallway was so soft that I decided to leave them in the room as well. I kicked them off beside the bed and wandered back outside, determined to explore some of the other hallways for lack of better things to do. I entered the elevator with the lighted buttons and gleaming, mirrored walls, pressing some double-digit number and ascending to that floor. I walked slowly down the silent hallway of closed brown doors and mute traffic displayed beyond the windows, when suddenly, not far ahead, I heard music floating out from one of the rooms. As I approached the sound, I noticed that the door to a room was left ajar. I peeked inside the room and saw an immaculately-dressed man that I knew very well seated cross-legged on the wooden floor with a plate of what looked like Chinese take-out on his lap. There was no furniture inside the room. As the man was facing the door, he immediately noticed my curious face peeping inside. "Come on in," he invited, patting the floor in front of him, "You look very familiar to me." he commented.
I entered and sat down, listening to the music coming from the small radio plugged into the far wall. "And you to me," I said, non-committal. "I believe we've met somewhere in the not-too-distant-past, though I cannot quite remember where." Wherever it was, I remembered it very well.
We exchanged names and shook hands, and I forget exactly the route of the conversation, but soon I was asking the man questions about himself and his hobbies. I found that despite whatever his current career was, his passion was singing. "I used to sing in the choir when I was a boy," he informed me, and reminisced about his favorite hymns, even singing sections of them in a bass voice that didn't quite fit his face or the image that I associated with it - though it, too, was something very known to me.
I had left the door open wider than it was before. I heard female chattering outside of it, nearing my position on the floor; I had a fear that one of my teachers or chaperones would find me here when I was technically supposed to be in my room. However, I saw the passing intruders from my peripheral vision, and as I recall, the group included a girl named Stormy from my biology class. She broke away from the group when she noticed me, and her face at first showed shock upon recognizing me; this shock slowly turned to amusement. She entered the room casually and greeted me. "Fancy finding you here, Ms. Witt." she said, a smirk in her voice.
"Hey," I said. I turned quickly to the man, who was still indulging in his Chinese food, "I must be getting back to my hotel room, but it was nice meeting and talking to you." He waved, but his mouth was full of food and he couldn't answer. I left the room with Stormy, boarding an elevator at the far end of the hallway. This elevator had glass windows (like the elevator in the Tim Burton re-make of "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory") and I was able to gaze in awe over the skyscrapers lit up and the city cloaked in the darkness of evening. The elevator descended like a silent shadow to the earth, stopping on our floor. We exited the elevator and returned to our separate rooms.
I cannot remember much of the next part of the dream; in one part of it, I was in my grandfather's music room. He was showing me some new score that he had acquired. I sat hungrily at the piano bench, my fingers itching to touch the keys. He reclined in the chair that his drama students had signed many years ago, and I played the "Emperor Concerto" of Beethoven while looking out of the window at the lethargic ducks milling around the duck pond. Then, I was in the band room, speaking to Mr. James about something that I don't remember at all; I might or might not have had the trumpet with me. I woke up in the middle of this confusing jumble of dreams.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
A Two-Purple-Cars Kind of Day and Two Dreams
As you might have guessed, the title of this blog entry originates from an unusual phenomenon that we witnessed today in the car on the way to Borders. We were driving along Country Club Road when I spotted a bright purple car passing us by on the left; not a minute later, another followed it. I told my mother and Gary (our friend from Virginia who arrived in town a few days ago) that this was the first time that I had seen two purple cars in one day.
Weeks are passing by in the post-winter-break sort of daze. It seems that everything just speeds up until summertime, and then time mercifully slows down for a few days while everyone basks in the glory of sleeping in and similar freedoms - but of course, as soon as this becomes a routine, life speeds up again. It's funny how it works.
If I didn't mention it in my last entry, my birthday and ensuing events were a success; my dad and I went to a Symphony concert last week, with guest artist Chris Thile - who plays the mandolin. T'was interesting. Also, I've started to learn the trumpet, and I was allowed to take home Mr. James' trumpet yesterday to practice with over Spring Break. I rode home with Elisabeth yesterday, along with Anita, to celebrate the former's birthday. Yesterday, just after the bell rang, I met Anita in the band room; it was raining, which was our reason for seeking shelter inside. Elisabeth was late for some reason, and so I pulled the trumpet from the case and played it for a while. Mr. James, hearing me play, emerged from his office, offering a few tips as I was playing. Soon after, Elisabeth arrived, and the four of us carried on an awkward conversation, us three girls sitting down and Mr. James simultaneously leaning against and straddling a stand-up bass. Mr. James and Elisabeth bounced random facts off of each other, and Anita and I observed as though watching a tennis match; at one point, Mr. James mentioned the fact that he had once been on the debate team. He went on to describe an occassion in which he had made a vegetarian girl cry; she was attempting to defend the morality of vegetarianism, when Mr. James stood up and presented as an argument a false study in which scientists had supposedly recorded the screams of vegetables being pulled from the ground. The girl reportedly faltered, whimpering, "But - no, it can't - carrots!" and then started to cry. As Mr. James told us, it was "rather amusing." The sleepover itself was fun - we spent most of it in Elisabeth's room, listening to Enya and watching Anita attempt to solve Elisabeth's many wooden puzzles.
I had an odd dream last night; we were watching "The Calendar Girls," but I was far too exhausted to attempt to understand the heavy British accents, and soon succumbed to slumber. I dreamt that my English class took a trip to Montreat (which is where our youth group voyaged this past year in the Autumn). We were in a long, oaky cabin hall; all of the students sat around the fireplace for warmth, waiting for Ms. Jones to join us. Suddenly, a man with a large, brown sack arrived. He wore a postal service hat, which indicated that he carried mail - sure enough, he produced letters for everyone from the bag. It apparently was late February in the dream, because many people received heart-decorated mail. Girls gushed over valentine cards sent from their boyfriends and boys tucked their cards secretly but proudly into their shirt pockets. I was disappointed to receive only three cards - two that I could immediately tell were from my parents. I read these, filing them in my purse, before opening the third. This one was a shock. It was from the Kapellmeister of our church; it addressed plans that I have to organize a benefit concert in the near future at our church. It was about here that I woke up.
I also had a dream last week that I will only touch on briefly. In this dream, my father and I were on the Disney Cruise that we rode on last summer, except there was a very stringent schedule for all of the passengers. We all had to be in specific places at specific times - at the indoor swimming pool for lessons at 4:00 sharp, at the top deck for silent tanning at noon, etc. If we were late for one activity, we would be given punishments by the leader of that activity, the nature of the punishment varying from written lines to silent detentions to other similar things. Things left unremembered or said are the identity of the swimming instructor and my somewhat-purposeful plot of being late to that class. Nothing eventful happened, however, and so I woke up.
Weeks are passing by in the post-winter-break sort of daze. It seems that everything just speeds up until summertime, and then time mercifully slows down for a few days while everyone basks in the glory of sleeping in and similar freedoms - but of course, as soon as this becomes a routine, life speeds up again. It's funny how it works.
If I didn't mention it in my last entry, my birthday and ensuing events were a success; my dad and I went to a Symphony concert last week, with guest artist Chris Thile - who plays the mandolin. T'was interesting. Also, I've started to learn the trumpet, and I was allowed to take home Mr. James' trumpet yesterday to practice with over Spring Break. I rode home with Elisabeth yesterday, along with Anita, to celebrate the former's birthday. Yesterday, just after the bell rang, I met Anita in the band room; it was raining, which was our reason for seeking shelter inside. Elisabeth was late for some reason, and so I pulled the trumpet from the case and played it for a while. Mr. James, hearing me play, emerged from his office, offering a few tips as I was playing. Soon after, Elisabeth arrived, and the four of us carried on an awkward conversation, us three girls sitting down and Mr. James simultaneously leaning against and straddling a stand-up bass. Mr. James and Elisabeth bounced random facts off of each other, and Anita and I observed as though watching a tennis match; at one point, Mr. James mentioned the fact that he had once been on the debate team. He went on to describe an occassion in which he had made a vegetarian girl cry; she was attempting to defend the morality of vegetarianism, when Mr. James stood up and presented as an argument a false study in which scientists had supposedly recorded the screams of vegetables being pulled from the ground. The girl reportedly faltered, whimpering, "But - no, it can't - carrots!" and then started to cry. As Mr. James told us, it was "rather amusing." The sleepover itself was fun - we spent most of it in Elisabeth's room, listening to Enya and watching Anita attempt to solve Elisabeth's many wooden puzzles.
I had an odd dream last night; we were watching "The Calendar Girls," but I was far too exhausted to attempt to understand the heavy British accents, and soon succumbed to slumber. I dreamt that my English class took a trip to Montreat (which is where our youth group voyaged this past year in the Autumn). We were in a long, oaky cabin hall; all of the students sat around the fireplace for warmth, waiting for Ms. Jones to join us. Suddenly, a man with a large, brown sack arrived. He wore a postal service hat, which indicated that he carried mail - sure enough, he produced letters for everyone from the bag. It apparently was late February in the dream, because many people received heart-decorated mail. Girls gushed over valentine cards sent from their boyfriends and boys tucked their cards secretly but proudly into their shirt pockets. I was disappointed to receive only three cards - two that I could immediately tell were from my parents. I read these, filing them in my purse, before opening the third. This one was a shock. It was from the Kapellmeister of our church; it addressed plans that I have to organize a benefit concert in the near future at our church. It was about here that I woke up.
I also had a dream last week that I will only touch on briefly. In this dream, my father and I were on the Disney Cruise that we rode on last summer, except there was a very stringent schedule for all of the passengers. We all had to be in specific places at specific times - at the indoor swimming pool for lessons at 4:00 sharp, at the top deck for silent tanning at noon, etc. If we were late for one activity, we would be given punishments by the leader of that activity, the nature of the punishment varying from written lines to silent detentions to other similar things. Things left unremembered or said are the identity of the swimming instructor and my somewhat-purposeful plot of being late to that class. Nothing eventful happened, however, and so I woke up.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Eventful Friday
Today was an eventful day for many reasons, both happy and tragic. First, I should start by saying that every day this week has been quite beautiful; Monday and Tuesday were the best, because they were sunny and I could easily have gone outside in shorts, and these past three days have been rainy and overcast, though still warm and spring-like. On Monday, exiting the band room, I remember an exchange with a fellow classmate, "Isn't it the most gloriously gorgeous day in the existence of gloriously gorgeous days?" He, of course, agreed.
Also, yesterday was the day that I officially decided to learn the craft of the trumpet. I entered the band room early, coming from lunch, to find Mr. James instructing Banks, who was learning to play the trombone. I hovered behind the timpani for a few moments in indecision, before I finally remembered the antics of the other percussionists the previous day, which had made me fairly certain that I wanted to leave the horrors of the percussion section behind, and as soon as possible. After coming to this conclusion, I confronted Mr. James and informed him of my desire to play a woodwind instrument - he immediately said that I could come by after school to learn. Pleased with my success in the inquiry, I bounced about in the back of the band room and informed people all that day of my imminent trumpet lessons, which will probably begin next week with the end of driver's education.
Today was the day our French story was due - mine was called "Le Vieil Homme et le Chien Parlant" (The Old Man and the Talking Dog), and it wasn't until I got to class that I remembered it was also Madame Matisko's last day before she takes her maternity leave. We were all brutally reminded of this when we walked into class and noticed an unfamiliar woman sitting with Madame Matisko behind her desk. It finally clicked with me that this must be notre nouvelle Madame, our teacher who will fill in for Ms. Matisko while she's out. As I worked on the last few details of my project, it seemed that Ms. Matisko was filling her in on specific details about some of her students - how she had two of the same name in one class, twins in another class, etc. I turned in my project and found myself engaged in what would be a 10 minute conversation about Net Flix and French movies with our new teacher (whose name, regrettably, I have not remembered yet). She suggested a movie called "Huit Femme," which apparently is a musical murder-mystery. I said that I had never heard of such a combination - she said that it was definitely worth the watch, and she also mentioned that it had a fellow named Greg Kinnear in it (or perhaps it was another movie that he was in; I don't quite remember) - which was coincidental unto itself as we've just finished watching "Ghost Town," which has Greg Kinnear in it. I have come to the personal conclusion that he is a very classy, dapper-looking man. In any case, I digress - when we left the class, I said "Au revoir, Madame," as I usually do.
I was informed of the next event when I reached band class - there was an ambulance outside of the school. Mr. James addressed this briefly, but without revealing what happened, as he assumed we all knew. Later, I was standing by the window with Allayah and Mitch after we ran through all of our band pieces; Mitch commented that one of the people who was being loaded into the ambulance had been Allayah's boyfriend at some point. Allayah offered to tell me the full story of what happened in the accident; I listened after I went over to remark that Jeremy was playing "Sleepers Wake - a Voice is Sounding" on his trumpet. Apparently five teenagers were in an automobile that crashed into a tree near the Moravian church - this single-car collision likely happened because the owner of the car allowed a student who didn't have a license to drive. As far as Allayah knew, three of the five were injured - though the other two might have suffered injuries as well that we simply haven't heard about yet. So, this was a sad way to transition from band class to biology.
About five minutes after we entered biology class, a student carrying stacks of "Copy Write" entered and delivered them to Dr. Findeis, who was upset to see that his name on the note was spelled incorrectly. He flipped through the magazine and said, "Ms. Witt! You've made it in here." I picked up a magazine during the break and found that they had chosen "Idle Summer Nights" for publication. I was somewhat surprised that they would pick this poem.
Biology passed in a sleepy daze (I haven't been getting enough sleep). Driver's ed consisted mostly of cumulative review and the passing back and forth of Harry Potter-themed sonnets with Mitch. I swear, that boy is the reason that I've survived the long hours of driver's education. He is one of few friends that I have in that class.
My mother picked me up at 6:30 - we dined at the new Mario's near my dad's house and rented movies from the hot guy movie store (the old guy was there today). After watching one of the movies with Lancy at my dad's house (my dad is out of town at the moment on vacation), we headed back home; my mother is currently in the other room with Wesley, watching the other movie that we rented, called "The Fourth Kind."
Also, yesterday was the day that I officially decided to learn the craft of the trumpet. I entered the band room early, coming from lunch, to find Mr. James instructing Banks, who was learning to play the trombone. I hovered behind the timpani for a few moments in indecision, before I finally remembered the antics of the other percussionists the previous day, which had made me fairly certain that I wanted to leave the horrors of the percussion section behind, and as soon as possible. After coming to this conclusion, I confronted Mr. James and informed him of my desire to play a woodwind instrument - he immediately said that I could come by after school to learn. Pleased with my success in the inquiry, I bounced about in the back of the band room and informed people all that day of my imminent trumpet lessons, which will probably begin next week with the end of driver's education.
Today was the day our French story was due - mine was called "Le Vieil Homme et le Chien Parlant" (The Old Man and the Talking Dog), and it wasn't until I got to class that I remembered it was also Madame Matisko's last day before she takes her maternity leave. We were all brutally reminded of this when we walked into class and noticed an unfamiliar woman sitting with Madame Matisko behind her desk. It finally clicked with me that this must be notre nouvelle Madame, our teacher who will fill in for Ms. Matisko while she's out. As I worked on the last few details of my project, it seemed that Ms. Matisko was filling her in on specific details about some of her students - how she had two of the same name in one class, twins in another class, etc. I turned in my project and found myself engaged in what would be a 10 minute conversation about Net Flix and French movies with our new teacher (whose name, regrettably, I have not remembered yet). She suggested a movie called "Huit Femme," which apparently is a musical murder-mystery. I said that I had never heard of such a combination - she said that it was definitely worth the watch, and she also mentioned that it had a fellow named Greg Kinnear in it (or perhaps it was another movie that he was in; I don't quite remember) - which was coincidental unto itself as we've just finished watching "Ghost Town," which has Greg Kinnear in it. I have come to the personal conclusion that he is a very classy, dapper-looking man. In any case, I digress - when we left the class, I said "Au revoir, Madame," as I usually do.
I was informed of the next event when I reached band class - there was an ambulance outside of the school. Mr. James addressed this briefly, but without revealing what happened, as he assumed we all knew. Later, I was standing by the window with Allayah and Mitch after we ran through all of our band pieces; Mitch commented that one of the people who was being loaded into the ambulance had been Allayah's boyfriend at some point. Allayah offered to tell me the full story of what happened in the accident; I listened after I went over to remark that Jeremy was playing "Sleepers Wake - a Voice is Sounding" on his trumpet. Apparently five teenagers were in an automobile that crashed into a tree near the Moravian church - this single-car collision likely happened because the owner of the car allowed a student who didn't have a license to drive. As far as Allayah knew, three of the five were injured - though the other two might have suffered injuries as well that we simply haven't heard about yet. So, this was a sad way to transition from band class to biology.
About five minutes after we entered biology class, a student carrying stacks of "Copy Write" entered and delivered them to Dr. Findeis, who was upset to see that his name on the note was spelled incorrectly. He flipped through the magazine and said, "Ms. Witt! You've made it in here." I picked up a magazine during the break and found that they had chosen "Idle Summer Nights" for publication. I was somewhat surprised that they would pick this poem.
Biology passed in a sleepy daze (I haven't been getting enough sleep). Driver's ed consisted mostly of cumulative review and the passing back and forth of Harry Potter-themed sonnets with Mitch. I swear, that boy is the reason that I've survived the long hours of driver's education. He is one of few friends that I have in that class.
My mother picked me up at 6:30 - we dined at the new Mario's near my dad's house and rented movies from the hot guy movie store (the old guy was there today). After watching one of the movies with Lancy at my dad's house (my dad is out of town at the moment on vacation), we headed back home; my mother is currently in the other room with Wesley, watching the other movie that we rented, called "The Fourth Kind."
Sunday, March 7, 2010
March 5th Movie Outing and Dream
To start, I think that I should discuss my birthday, March 4th. Not many people remembered it at first, besides my father, Saoirse, and Alice from French class. However, it was neat because I convinced Mr. James to let us play my favorite Bach chorale, number five, which I think is "Jesu, Guard and Guide Thy Members." I had driver's ed that day, and so Mitch and I spent the time passing scandalous Harry Potter pick-up lines back and forth (though I could only come up with one, while he had at least five or six up his sleeve).
Speaking of driver's ed, we had another amusing moment a few weeks ago when we were discussing what a "restricted permit" might allow - my guess after a few minutes of thought was that it would make it legal to sit behind the wheel of an automobile and make car noises. Mitch and I decided that it would be quite amazing if a permit was needed for this.
That night, my parents, Wesley, and I went to Macaroni Grill for dinner, where I saw Savannah from school. Also, I was very lucky, as the opera singer that my dad hoped would be there was absent, which gave me some anonymity as far as my birthday was concerned. In any case, I had some delicious lobster ravioli, and though we were supposed to go keyboard hunting at Sam's Club, we found that they had either moved or completely disposed of their keyboard exhibit.
I was rather buoyant all of Friday, due to my plans to go to the theater with my friends that night (to see "Alice in Wonderland"). I arrived back at the house around 6:45 from driver's ed and was able to hop in the shower and re-dress myself in my black dress before Shannon and Charles were dropped off. I was very flattered when Charles presented me with a gift card for Target; later, when we got back to the house, Shannon gave me beautiful earrings and promised me that she had burnt a cd, but left it at her house. So, after I had finished applying make-up and such, my dad drove us out to the Wynsong theater so that we could be there by 7:25 (to try to buy tickets for the 7:45 showing). Shannon, Charles, and I waited on the sidewalk outside of the theater as my dad went to ask about whether the showing was sold out. While he was in the process of doing this, Eric walked up and greeted us - shortly followed by Virginia and Carly. I introduced them all to my dad, who informed us that the 7:45 showing was sold out and that we would have to buy tickets for the 8:15 showing. We scrambled to get in line before this showing also sold out, and then headed inside to dawdle in the lobby area with our tickets. My dad sat at a nearby table and had an intense conversation on his cell phone as more people slowly arrived: Joe, and finally Saoirse, who came in to report the sad news that the 8:15 showing had sold out before she had bought a ticket. My dad, upon hearing this news, rushed to her aid and was able to convince the manager to give Saoirse a ticket as she was part of our group. The group cheered and was glad.
The movie itself was interesting, odd, and Tim Burton-ish. Our group found amusement in the dainty, upright posture of the White Queen. Besides this, I can't really criticize it any more, as I have read neither of the books.
That night, upon returning to the house and greeting Elizabeth, who planned to spend the night with Shannon and I, we fell asleep early due to our fatigue (she had gone to see the movie as well, but at a different theater). I had a great number of confusing and moody dreams.
The first dream was typical of my dreaming nature: it was very stressful, with accompanying feelings of shame connected with some crime that I can no longer remember committing. In the dream, I had made a huge mistake that involved my whole family and all of my friends - the sheer magnitude of my mistake altered the way they perceived me, though they claimed to love me still. It was irrevocable and there was no way of making full amends. After a few hours of this torment, I awoke and went to the bathroom; most unusually, I was able to go back to sleep after I returned to bed.
The second dream had a very calming effect after the first one. I dreamt of Florida, my favorite place in the universe (especially during these dreary, cold winter months when my grandmother calls and complains, "Robyn, you won't believe how cold it is down here - it got to the low 70's this afternoon!"). More specifically, I dreamt of my paternal grandparents' house.
I've thought a lot about their house as of late, and I have no explanation for this. To me, their house is the epitome of tranquility, with its white walls uninterrupted but for my grandfather's soothing paintings, and its rooms that look out on the duck pond in the backyard and the fruit trees that bend lazily in the wind. You enter the house through the garage; walking through the kitchen/dining room, you can take a right to enter the living room (where they keep a faceless doll christened "Mary" leaning against the wall in her flowery dress, with her hands poised over her eyes in a perpetual state of hide-and-seek counting) or a left to enter the music room, where my grandfather keeps his baby grand piano and the most beautiful view of the pond in the entire house. Walking through the hallway of the rest of the house, you can go left or right to enter the community bathroom, my father's old bedroom, my grandfather's office (which, I think, used to be my aunt's bedroom), and my grandparents' bedroom and personal bathroom. It is a beautiful house, and in my dream, I recollect passing through it from room to room, before going outside and walking barefoot in the grass (which was uncharacteristically soft for Florida grass in the dream). I woke up feeling at-peace with the world.
Speaking of driver's ed, we had another amusing moment a few weeks ago when we were discussing what a "restricted permit" might allow - my guess after a few minutes of thought was that it would make it legal to sit behind the wheel of an automobile and make car noises. Mitch and I decided that it would be quite amazing if a permit was needed for this.
That night, my parents, Wesley, and I went to Macaroni Grill for dinner, where I saw Savannah from school. Also, I was very lucky, as the opera singer that my dad hoped would be there was absent, which gave me some anonymity as far as my birthday was concerned. In any case, I had some delicious lobster ravioli, and though we were supposed to go keyboard hunting at Sam's Club, we found that they had either moved or completely disposed of their keyboard exhibit.
I was rather buoyant all of Friday, due to my plans to go to the theater with my friends that night (to see "Alice in Wonderland"). I arrived back at the house around 6:45 from driver's ed and was able to hop in the shower and re-dress myself in my black dress before Shannon and Charles were dropped off. I was very flattered when Charles presented me with a gift card for Target; later, when we got back to the house, Shannon gave me beautiful earrings and promised me that she had burnt a cd, but left it at her house. So, after I had finished applying make-up and such, my dad drove us out to the Wynsong theater so that we could be there by 7:25 (to try to buy tickets for the 7:45 showing). Shannon, Charles, and I waited on the sidewalk outside of the theater as my dad went to ask about whether the showing was sold out. While he was in the process of doing this, Eric walked up and greeted us - shortly followed by Virginia and Carly. I introduced them all to my dad, who informed us that the 7:45 showing was sold out and that we would have to buy tickets for the 8:15 showing. We scrambled to get in line before this showing also sold out, and then headed inside to dawdle in the lobby area with our tickets. My dad sat at a nearby table and had an intense conversation on his cell phone as more people slowly arrived: Joe, and finally Saoirse, who came in to report the sad news that the 8:15 showing had sold out before she had bought a ticket. My dad, upon hearing this news, rushed to her aid and was able to convince the manager to give Saoirse a ticket as she was part of our group. The group cheered and was glad.
The movie itself was interesting, odd, and Tim Burton-ish. Our group found amusement in the dainty, upright posture of the White Queen. Besides this, I can't really criticize it any more, as I have read neither of the books.
That night, upon returning to the house and greeting Elizabeth, who planned to spend the night with Shannon and I, we fell asleep early due to our fatigue (she had gone to see the movie as well, but at a different theater). I had a great number of confusing and moody dreams.
The first dream was typical of my dreaming nature: it was very stressful, with accompanying feelings of shame connected with some crime that I can no longer remember committing. In the dream, I had made a huge mistake that involved my whole family and all of my friends - the sheer magnitude of my mistake altered the way they perceived me, though they claimed to love me still. It was irrevocable and there was no way of making full amends. After a few hours of this torment, I awoke and went to the bathroom; most unusually, I was able to go back to sleep after I returned to bed.
The second dream had a very calming effect after the first one. I dreamt of Florida, my favorite place in the universe (especially during these dreary, cold winter months when my grandmother calls and complains, "Robyn, you won't believe how cold it is down here - it got to the low 70's this afternoon!"). More specifically, I dreamt of my paternal grandparents' house.
I've thought a lot about their house as of late, and I have no explanation for this. To me, their house is the epitome of tranquility, with its white walls uninterrupted but for my grandfather's soothing paintings, and its rooms that look out on the duck pond in the backyard and the fruit trees that bend lazily in the wind. You enter the house through the garage; walking through the kitchen/dining room, you can take a right to enter the living room (where they keep a faceless doll christened "Mary" leaning against the wall in her flowery dress, with her hands poised over her eyes in a perpetual state of hide-and-seek counting) or a left to enter the music room, where my grandfather keeps his baby grand piano and the most beautiful view of the pond in the entire house. Walking through the hallway of the rest of the house, you can go left or right to enter the community bathroom, my father's old bedroom, my grandfather's office (which, I think, used to be my aunt's bedroom), and my grandparents' bedroom and personal bathroom. It is a beautiful house, and in my dream, I recollect passing through it from room to room, before going outside and walking barefoot in the grass (which was uncharacteristically soft for Florida grass in the dream). I woke up feeling at-peace with the world.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Birthday Tomorrow
So, I came on here due to today's proximity to tomorrow, which will be my fifteenth birthday. I look forward to it, though it sucks somewhat owing to the fact that it is on a Thursday; however, I will be dining out with my parents tomorrow night to celebrate, and will furthermore be attending the Wynsong theater on Friday night with fellow school friends, most likely to see the much-anticipated "Alice In Wonderland," though it seems very likely that it will be sold out by the time we get there, in which case we will view "Avatar" or "The Blind Side" as an alternative. As you can probably infer from my run-on sentence, I am quite excited about the whole ordeal.
Tomorrow is also an exciting day because it is the date of a Seminar-In-the-Arts class transition - from Cultural Languages to Creative Writing, the class that I look forward to most. Ms. Fitzgerald, who sponsors the creative writing club, will be instructing this course, and I know that it will be great.
The one sad thing about my birthday is the fact that it will fall short of one of my mid-winter wishes/hopes - that I would be able to walk about during the day wearing shorts. Considering the spontaneous snowfall that occured just a day ago (which delayed us two hours today), it will probably be pants and long-sleeved-shirt weather.
The only other eventful thing that I can think of that happened this week was the private concert that my father and I had the privilege to attend at his friend Roskin's house (I might be spelling his name wrong and I don't know his last name, unfortunately, as everyone there seemed to be on first name terms with him). He is a world-class pianist, and we got to sit with him in the room set aside for his gorgeous, ginormous piano while he played Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto. It was incredible - I've never heard much Rachmaninoff, except for Youtube recordings of him playing Chopin Nocturnes and such. So hearing - no, seeing - his music firsthand as I did was simply amazing. He was one of those pianists who made runs and dual melodies look extremely easy, with nimble fingers that were able to move adeptly over the keys and put perfect force into the chords at the same time. It was like hearing Beethoven, the same sort of feeling that you're watching something being born, observing the very cogs of creation rotating - it was like witnessing something being knit together in a womb, as I habitually say of Beethoven's music. So, enough of that ranting.
I dreamt last night, as I have frequently over the past week, though none of the previous dreams made enough of an impact on my memory for me to recall them in depth. I'm sure some of my avid readers have experienced the occasional dream in which the subject is a person you have known, but whom you haven't spoken to or even thought about for a while (even someone who almost completely left your life). I often wake from these dreams shocked, thinking, "Wow. I haven't spoken to that person in a while; how odd that, without even thinking about him/her, they would appear in my dream!"
So, in the dream, I logged onto my facebook eagerly to check my guest list for my birthday outing on Friday to the movies. I noticed that I had a message, and so I opened it. The message was from Mr. Gatsby, whom I had met on the cruise ship (look back in my May entries for more info). As I recently became aware (in real life), he was dating someone. "Good for him," I thought. But in the dream, his email expressed his unhappiness with his love life. He claimed that he had broken up with his girlfriend and was thinking of marriage. Somehow in the email, he conveyed that he wanted me to travel to where he lived so that we could be engaged. Against my better judgment, I departed - only to find him back together with the girl he had claimed he'd left. "We're not together anymore," he claimed, "She just keeps following me around." I was irritated, because, given the implications of his email, I had bought a one-way airline ticket and had no way of returning home any time soon without financial assistance. This was about all I can remember from the dream, but it was rather interesting.
Tomorrow is also an exciting day because it is the date of a Seminar-In-the-Arts class transition - from Cultural Languages to Creative Writing, the class that I look forward to most. Ms. Fitzgerald, who sponsors the creative writing club, will be instructing this course, and I know that it will be great.
The one sad thing about my birthday is the fact that it will fall short of one of my mid-winter wishes/hopes - that I would be able to walk about during the day wearing shorts. Considering the spontaneous snowfall that occured just a day ago (which delayed us two hours today), it will probably be pants and long-sleeved-shirt weather.
The only other eventful thing that I can think of that happened this week was the private concert that my father and I had the privilege to attend at his friend Roskin's house (I might be spelling his name wrong and I don't know his last name, unfortunately, as everyone there seemed to be on first name terms with him). He is a world-class pianist, and we got to sit with him in the room set aside for his gorgeous, ginormous piano while he played Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto. It was incredible - I've never heard much Rachmaninoff, except for Youtube recordings of him playing Chopin Nocturnes and such. So hearing - no, seeing - his music firsthand as I did was simply amazing. He was one of those pianists who made runs and dual melodies look extremely easy, with nimble fingers that were able to move adeptly over the keys and put perfect force into the chords at the same time. It was like hearing Beethoven, the same sort of feeling that you're watching something being born, observing the very cogs of creation rotating - it was like witnessing something being knit together in a womb, as I habitually say of Beethoven's music. So, enough of that ranting.
I dreamt last night, as I have frequently over the past week, though none of the previous dreams made enough of an impact on my memory for me to recall them in depth. I'm sure some of my avid readers have experienced the occasional dream in which the subject is a person you have known, but whom you haven't spoken to or even thought about for a while (even someone who almost completely left your life). I often wake from these dreams shocked, thinking, "Wow. I haven't spoken to that person in a while; how odd that, without even thinking about him/her, they would appear in my dream!"
So, in the dream, I logged onto my facebook eagerly to check my guest list for my birthday outing on Friday to the movies. I noticed that I had a message, and so I opened it. The message was from Mr. Gatsby, whom I had met on the cruise ship (look back in my May entries for more info). As I recently became aware (in real life), he was dating someone. "Good for him," I thought. But in the dream, his email expressed his unhappiness with his love life. He claimed that he had broken up with his girlfriend and was thinking of marriage. Somehow in the email, he conveyed that he wanted me to travel to where he lived so that we could be engaged. Against my better judgment, I departed - only to find him back together with the girl he had claimed he'd left. "We're not together anymore," he claimed, "She just keeps following me around." I was irritated, because, given the implications of his email, I had bought a one-way airline ticket and had no way of returning home any time soon without financial assistance. This was about all I can remember from the dream, but it was rather interesting.
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