I cringe when anyone says something negative about Melania Trump, especially about her past. She’s married to Trump which makes her sympathetic in my view. She seems to be a good mother, is a bright woman, and is graceful. She may have had to struggle greatly (and still be struggling) to be where she is. I’m glad Trump acknowledged her at the beginning of his debut address to Congress and extremely glad that the attendees applauded, at least the ones I saw did so. How she conducts herself as First Lady matters more than her past or her husband. Women, especially, should help her succeed.
I wish I had not added such positive note to the end of my previous Word Press post, so I’m expanding my comments.The Moonlight winners were diminished, whether the error was genuine or fake (I believe the latter). They didn’t get time to accept the award, to be poised and articulate. They had to scurry up and share the stage with the generous-hearted La La Land people. The final scene on stage is a lovely one from the togetherness angle, and, if planned, was likely well motivated. But look who had the most time center stage. I think there was a remark circulating Oscars night about a white man saving jazz in La La Land. This final scene has a bit of that not pleasant edge.
How could such a perfect ending to the Academy Awards be a mistake? Surely someone (many) planned this. La La Land actors and artists stayed on stage and joined success and hands and hugs with Moonlight actors and artists. It was beautiful ending and combated the ugliness that has been spreading over the country. Good for for everyone involved. Good for us all.
I have been so enchanted by Victoria and Albert, the current series on PBS! The characters are winning, they’re in love, kind to each other, growing in understanding and responsibility. I was happy tonight, and riding the train with Albert and Peel and then with Victoria, and admiring chocolate and embroidery—all sorts of wonderful sights and thoughts and emotions. Happy. Then my husband, dear man, who adores the show, too, probably for some of the same reasons I do, said, “Well, when Albert dies . . .” Spoiler. Spoiled. I felt like crying, though the couple’s first baby isn’t born yet and they’ll have nine.
I’ve been to the Albert and Victoria Museum; I’ve read the history. Death comes to us all, and for Albert that’s likely years in the future. And yet, it came into the living room in the midst of my enjoying this wonderful show. Fortunately, I baked a double batch of brownies yesterday and will have some now. Miss Skerrett and her suitor Chef Francatelli would recommend it.
I’ve been watching television shows with closed caption functions that make whispers audible and allow me to follow programs with no sound. On one television, the caption comes a little before the speech; on the other television, the caption is sometimes in sync with the lips, sometimes afterwards, sometimes skips sentences, frequently misspells or provides a guess word. I don’t believe a person is doing this, but I can’t understand how an electronic program could be. The most interesting, funny, and somewhat alarming captions reveal a politically correct censorship–inappropriate sequences of letters are removed even when they’re a necessary part of a larger, innocuous word. “Suspicious,” for example, is spelled like so: suxxxxious. I have always loved the English language (most languages, actually), the mystery and music of them, and the power, of course. Now the caption is a separate language within the one I know. I feel a subliminal instruction along with deconstruction. I’m so interested and amused that I follow the caption more closely than the show.
This was worth working on–a Missouri Life article about artist Gary Cadwallader . I’m very pleased to see it in print, and very grateful to Gary for trusting me to write it.
I often wake in the morning feeling in possession of a great discovery, a solution to a universal mystery, such as What is God? The answer is always fluttering inches away, and, try as I will, it escapes me. During the day I get hints of it and spend a few more minutes searching my memory, which, researchers tell us, is tricky at best. (Our memory rewrites our history even as we record it.) No matter what I recall, it isn’t the answer I felt I had. It’s a fragment. Recently I woke believing that the very fragmentation and elusiveness is the answer. There’s a reason for the rim sleep, where we labor and search to no avail: We can’t locate the classroom until the course is over; we drive to a destination but arrive miles away and have no car; we belong on the upper floor and we have to crawl under the foundation; we discover a beautiful room in a house we’re vacating, so we stay, and the room suddenly loses its luster. All the dream training, years of sorting through crazy time and maze worlds and glaze tone is a thwarting. Dreams are the mechanism by which we could find, and may eventually find, answers to all the great mysteries. The thwarting is interference–we’re coded not to know yet. To a Bible reader, which I have been and am, this is like finding the Tower of Babel in the dream world.
Posted in dream practice, dreams, sleep, sleep cycles, sleep theories, Uncategorized
Tagged dream cycles, dreams, dreams and writing, evolution of the brain, interpreting dreams, intuition, seeking knowledge