I wonder what my mother is doing right this second (Someone is praying for you)

[For LP, LN, & LT: You would be surprised to know how much I fret about your well-being sometimes, but I am confident in the knowledge that joy comes in the morning.]

I will not be long this morning; I have something I really must do. You know I always like to begin each morning with something positive. More often that not, things tend to end just as they begin. If we begin the week on a positive note, perhaps that positivity will carry throughout the week.

But for some strange reason I dreamed about my mother last night. And I know what you are thinking. No, I did not eat pork or anything spicy before I went to bed. In fact, I had a very healthy, very nutritious meal that my wife prepared for me and my family with love and care. But back to my dream.

I dreamed that I was back at home in my mother’s house. I walked through the house calling her name, but she did not answer. Then I stood quietly for a minute and listened, and I could hear her voice coming from behind her bedroom door.

So I knocked on her door, but she did not answer. I knocked again and again but still no answer. I then cracked the door just a little to peek in, and there was my mother on her knees in prayer, her face twisted into a desperate, pleading scowl. As I got even closer, I could see her face shining with sweat as if she had been on her knees for quite some time.

And in my dream I was so unsettled by the whole scene that was playing out in front of me, and so frightened at what might be going on in her life that would cause her to pray with such determined fervor that reaching out, I called to her, but she still did not respond. When I got close enough to her so that I might hear what she was saying, I could hear only the same name being repeated over and over again as if it were a mantra—“Max…Max…Max…Max…”

I began shake her and shake her in an effort to bring her out of the seemingly hypnotic state she was under. And finally she stopped and she looked at me and she smiled. “How are you doing this morning, baby?”

I was practically in tears at this point, but I managed to tell her that I was alright. Through my tears tied to terror, I managed to tell her she could get up now, that I was okay. She need not pray for me any longer. But she just smiled and shook her head, and she told me that she was already assured that I was okay because all this time I had been away, she had been down on her knees praying for me. And she couldn’t stop now, because she knew I was too arrogant and full of myself to get down on my knees and pray for myself.

With that she put her hand to my face, hugged me, and left a kiss on my cheek. And then clasped her hands back in front of her, closed her eyes again, and twisted her face back into a scowl, and began once again to pray, to plead—“Max…Max…Max…Max…”

Yes, Another Snake Tale

I did not want to do another snake post; I have already visited and revisited that subject before. However, this time my hand has been forced. The other day we happened to step outside only to find another snake in the flowerbed next to the front door—a lot of snakes both literal and metaphorical have been showing up at my door lately—and I immediately sprung into action.

I did mention the incident to a few friends, but not because I wanted to brag on my snake killing prowess; I only mentioned it because I thought it was unusual to see a snake this late in the season. Usually by now they are off hibernating. But then my wife began telling her skewed version of the story to her friends and relatives and all over Facebook, and I thought I had better step in to reclaim my narrative.

It all began on this past Wednesday evening. There was nothing unusual about this Wednesday evening. I did get home from work a bit early. Anyway, my wife and I decided to go to the store to look at something she wanted me to see. But as we were stepping out the front door she looked down and suddenly said, “Is that a snake?”

I glanced down only to find a garter snake about two feet long just laying there massive black serpent of gargantuan proportions lurking, and ready to strike. Surprised, I quickly stepped back into the house wondering what to do next decisively went back into the house to retrieve my glasses from the table in the vestibule so that I might be able to clearly see the creature I was about to do battle with.

My wife said, “What are you running back into the house for?” “Only you can save us Max!” And she lead the way I lead the way as we retreated back backtracked through the house to the garage underground crime-fighting lair so that we might retrieve garden tools gargantuan sized snake killing implements. She chose a hoe crossbow, and I chose a shovel broadsword, and we returned to do battle.

Just as we stepped back outside the front door, the garter snake vile dragon like serpent seemed to sense our presence and began to crawl away hissing, reared up to its full height, prepared to take me on. I screamed ferociously yelled with valor, “He’s getting away. Get him! Get him!” “This vile creature doth seek to do battle. Stand back fair maiden, for what shall happenth next may forever haunteth thy dreams.”

At that time, my wife trapped him with her hoe, holding him to the ground shot him through with the crossbow, pinning him to the ground. She then yelled, “I’m holding him down. Just kill him with the shovel.” “He findeth himself trapped; now is the time to strike with your sword, brave lord. Be true in your aim for each swing of thy blade could be thy last!”

So I cautiously bravely stepped forward with all disregard for my safety, and took a half-hearted stab with my shovel swung my blade with all my might, and missed but my aim was not true. My wife then yelled, “Damn, Max, you got to get closer. Do you want to hold him with the hoe, and I kill him?” “Your aim was not true, my lord. You must strike again. Only you possesseth the strength to bring this creature to its end.”

So, I struck again, and the blow found its mark. But it was only a glancing blow and served only to wound the creature, and some nasty looking yellow stuff squirted out vile acid like yellow fluid did issue forth from the wound, causing me to cry out, “Oh, my God! What is that? That nasty looking stuff just got all over my new loafers!” “He hath covered me with his toxic blood, but I have been protected by my armor!”

And with that I swung again, and again, and again, each blow of my shovel sword finding its mark until the snake dragon like serpent lay dead from a thousand death blows, quivering in the throes of death. Then my wife uttered, “It’s about time. You took all that time to kill that thing. You were acting like you were scared.” “You have vanquished that foul beast sent forth from the pit of hell! And you did so with a valiance never witnessed before.”

So, this is the story, the true story, the exact narrative account. Do not believe what my wife might have told you over the phone or posted on Facebook. And let me go even further to remind you of the import of this event. Before when I have slain such creatures, it has been to protect my family. However, in this instance, had I failed in my endeavor, this creature would not have stopped with my family but would have wreaked havoc on the world; he could have shown up in your flowerbed next.

So, I am a hero, your hero. And my legend continues.

Another crazy dream, this time involving Grace Jones. Can you interpret this for me?

Those readers who have been following this blog for a while now know that I practice very poor eating and sleeping habits. And when the two poor practices coincide, well I have very horrible, very bizarre dreams. For instance, when I eat pork or anything fried or spicy before I go to sleep, I usually end up having a nightmare. And when I eat fried spicy pork, the nightmares are just that much more terrifying.

But lately I have been having the same recurring nightmare or, perhaps, fantasy; I am unable to distinguish which of the two it is. This nightmare/fantasy involves me, a prehistoric landscape, Grace Jones, and sex.

Let me begin, though, by giving you some background information so that you might better understand the circumstance. When I was a young man and Grace Jones was in her prime, I had a huge celebrity crush on her. I thought that she could quite possibly be the sexiest woman alive. However, when I mentioned this to a group of my close friends, they laughed at me. In fact, they went far beyond just laughing. They ridiculed me until having been shamed so badly, I never mentioned Grace or my adolescent lust for her anymore.

Now fast forward to the present. Every time I eat something that I shouldn’t and then go to sleep, I keep having this recurring nightmare/fantasy. As I have stated, I have grown quite accustomed to this occurring, but never the same dream over and over again.

In this dream, I am strolling haplessly through this barren prehistoric landscape when out of nowhere Grace Jones suddenly appears dressed in primitive garb and clubs me over the head with this huge dinosaur bone, rendering me semi-conscious. She then drabs me back to a cave where for an unspecified amount of time, she makes crazy, unrestrained primordial love to me over and over again.

In my semi-conscious state, I cry for her to stop. I beg her to release me. I try to appeal to her sense of decently by telling her of my wife and children back at the cave. But she doesn’t stop. She just laughs and sneers and continues her assault upon my poor unwilling person.

Finally, she grows bored of me, and then carries me out of her cave and throws me atop a huge dung heap where I am finally eaten by a horde of tiny little dinosaurs. And then I awake. At first I would awake in a panic, all covered with sweat, but lately I have been waking up… Well, let’s just say I have been waking up a bit more excited than I should be after such a horrific dream.

I firmly believe that dreams carry with them some unconscious meaning, but I honestly do not know what to make of this one. I know what Freud would say. He would say simply that it is my long repressed desire for Grace Jones manifesting itself in my dreams. But this explanation seems a bit too simplistic.

And I tried to discuss it with my wife, but the whole thing just served to remind her that I had stained her nice, new chenille bedspread with hot sauce, and the stain won’t come out, so she went on a tirade. I mentioned it to my brother who insisted that it was my inner-freak trying to come out and suggested a guy only excursion to Mexico, but I declined that offer. If I do have an inner-freak, and that inner-freak just happens to burst out, I would certainly want my wife around. I don’t want some inner-freak I am not even aware of getting me into any trouble.

I even called my mother and father to talk to them about. You don't know how hard it was discussing a matter of such a nature with them, but I was desperate. However, each blamed the other’s side of the family for my depraved condition and offered to help me pray my way through this whole ordeal, but I declined.

I think that perhaps I am working a bit too hard. I fear that perhaps I am becoming a bit unhinged. But if I am going crazy, I wish to be the first to know. Can someone help me interpret this dream?