Some more dreaming?

Song of the day: “I hope you dance” by Leann Womack. Such a beautiful song, really. Heard it in “Cold Case” once, and have loved it ever since, even though I don’t like Cold Case at all. Hah.

I had a good one again, so let’s just jump right in and see what I remember of it (a dream, in case it wasn’t clear).

“Let’s go!” he says. The moment he does, I know that I am dreaming, because I don’t see him anymore unless I’m asleep and tumble deep into my subconscious. He is standing in the doorway, beckoning me to follow as I glance up from my book.
“Where to?” I ask him, slowly getting to my feet and looking around to see if anyone in the vast library notices. I come here often, this magical place where books are piled high into the domed chambers. Waxed teak wherever the eye can reach, and the sweet scent of beeswax almost overpowering the smell of old books. Not entirely though, which is why I love this place so much.
“Shhh,” he cautions, bringing his finger to his lips and then grabbing my hand to pull me out into the bright sunlight.
Tall trees sway all ‘round, numerous hues of green undulating in the beams of light that tumble through the canopy of leafs as birds twitter noisily.
“What?” I wish to know, keeping my voice low as he let him lead me deeper into the woods. He just shakes his head at me, the sunlight falling onto his bright blond hair and making it shine like gold.
I am about to ask again where he is taking me, when he draws to a halt and turns to face me.
“Here, look what I’ve found.” He digs into his pocket and pulls out a tiny marble that sparkles brightly like a star. I know instantly what it is, (seeing as it is my dream, of course) and gasp as I am irrevocably drawn to it.
(It is a Conundrum. I know, I know, I’ve no idea where that name comes from, but it’s what I called it in my dream. It is a tiny ball of energy that allows the carrier, or carriers in this case, to travel through time.)
“Wow. Where did you find a Conundrum of all things,” I ask him, reaching a tentative hand out towards the marble-sized star and letting my hand hover over it almost reverently. It sparkles and hums with energy.
“I can’t tell you,” he says, beckoning me closer until our foreheads almost touch. We’re both bent over his newfound treasure like a bunch of excited kids, pondering the possibilities of such a treasure.
“Okay. Where are we going?” I want to know, excited beyond measure and grinning up at his impish expression.
“It’s a secret. Close your eyes.”
“Why? I don’t like secrets, you know that.”
“It’ll be fun, I promise. You trust me, don’t you?”
Of course I trust him, how could I not. And yet, there is something in his eyes that makes me suspect that he is up to something.
“No funny stuff, okay?”
“No, no. No funny stuff. Come on. Take my hand.” I take it, because I do of course want to see the place he’s taking me, and close my eyes obediently. His hand warm around mine, he pulls me close to his side and lays the conundrum on the mossy ground at our feet.
“Are you ready?” he asks softly. His voice a little husky, just the way I remember it, and his breath hot against my cheek as he wraps his other arm around my shoulder and draws me close against him. He familiarity of it takes my breath away for a moment, and in that instant, I can do nothing but cherish the feeling of his oh-so familiar embrace.
Then he shifts, and I know that he raises one booted foot and smashes the star-marble beneath his sole, just like you’re supposed to when you want to time travel with a conundrum.
There is the familiar sensation of vertigo, followed by falling, and then the jarring sensation of landing within our destination.
Slowly, almost reluctantly I open my eyes, and look around.
It isn’t all that different from the place we just left. There are trees, his grasses and reeds, and from the greyish light all around I guestimate it to be around six in the afternoon.
Though I feel disoriented, as I look around I do begin to catch sight of views that are infinitely familiar to me. I can’t remember from where, and considering the sound of laughing children startles me to attention.
“Where are we?” I look at him, but he doesn’t reply as he smiles and points towards the big pond that is just barely visibly through the large beeches, birches and some poplars. High reed grows on the edge of the pond that is at least a two hundred feet wide with small water plants floating amidst small clusters of dugs and herons.
I definitely know this place, but still for the life of me, I cannot recall why. I let him lead me closer to the edge of the pond, and there on the other side, flitting in and out of sight behind swaying stems of reed a multitude of children play noisily in the high grass. Clustered through the woods behind them are adults, smiling and laughing in what is clearly an excursion of sorts.
There is a colourful array of winter clothes. Thick jackets, woollen hats and heavy boots for all. The children, all of ages varying between six and ten, are having a blast, moving back and forth between small tables set up with food stuffs and the like, and whatever game they are playing.
There are small fires burning, and singing fills the air when a woman with curly red hair claps her hands to get everyone’s attention.
Parents and children alike gather around the fires as we make our way stealthily around the pond, drawing gradually nearer.
I know this scene as well, and yet I am mesmerized as and ancient ritual of cleansing is celebrated with good cheer and careful planning. One child after another is behind lifted by the arms and swiftly swung over a low burning fire by fathers and mothers, while others applaud and cheer from the sidelines. Songs are sung, and twilight settles fast in the late autumn air.
“What…?” I have to ask again, but before I finish my companion points into the distance where a little girl is excitedly and noisily playing hide and seek with a group of her friends.
I stumble to a halt as I stare.
Pigtails of thin ashblond hair, red ribbons limply dangling down, swinging as she runs on sturdy leather boots in search of a proper hiding place. I watch astounded, as she grins widely, showing a big empty gap where her two front teeth were supposed to be, and then scampers into the reed. She is wearing a corduroy coat of a deep brown. It tops a woolen skirt of some cheery print, topping warm black tights that disappear into her boots.
A much familiar sight for me, even though I am still reluctant to believe that the oval shape face with the green/brown eyes, sloppy grin and sturdy little body are of the little girl I believe her to be.
“I can’t believe he brought me here,” I whisper at him, feeling him stand behind me as he slips both arms around me waist.
“I wanted to see,” he says simply, resting his chin on my shoulder as we both watch the little girl burst from the reed in an attempt to reach the tree stump of the “seeker” before he, a small asian boy, can return.
“This is so dangerous;” I whisper again. Still staring at the little girl who reaches the tree trunk just too late when the seeker beats her to it. She frowns and stamps her foot in frustration, talking to the little boy like the outspoken child she is. Before she can throw an actual tantrum her name is called, showing me her mother, standing near the trees on the left of the pond. She is waving at the girl to come join her by the fire for her turn, and then the picnic tables where sumptuous food is waiting.
The little girl is about to turn when something, I don’t know what makes her glance in our direction and frown in confusion.
(She is of course me, when I was little more than six years old and out on an excursion with family and friends, and I am staring at the whole scene from across the lake, worrying what disaster we might cause traveling back here.)
She is looking straight at us, and quite automatically, I raise my hand in a wave. This has the girl hesitate some more. She stands there, looking at us as if she doesn’t know what to think of our presence since it is quite clear that we don’t look anything like the other parents bustling about.
I don’t understand why he has brought me here, or why he would want to visit here at all. For all intents and purposes, this is just an unmemorable day from my past…so many, many years ago.
“I don’t understand,” I tell him, still watching the little girl who is standing there by the shore her little hands fluttering over her big pockets and then sinking in as behind her, her mother approaches and places a concerned hand on her shoulder.
The little girl smiles her toothless grin again, looks up bright-eyed and immediately forgets about us while she takes her mother’s hand and skips down the grassy path to join the fun by the fires.
“I know,” he says from his place behind me, squeezing me tightly once more and adding, “Are you ready to go back?”
Before I can answer him, the view blurs and I wake up to that friggin’ annoying tune of my phone-alarm.
Jeez. I really need to put a nice song on there again, because this drives me bonkers.
But anyway, so much for my time traveling dream. *Sigh*

Now the clincher is of course that when I think back of that particular excursion I could swear that I remember two people standing on the other side of the pond, staring at me rather strangely. Hah.

But okay. Enough about that.
For the most part the last couple of days were spent working in the yard, driving around because Sally had car trouble an hour away so we had to pick her up and then mess with the Daewoo afterwards to find out why the brakes didn’t work.

We couldn’t figure it out, because it worked just fine for us, but to play it safe we had to bring it to the shop today and left it there so they can check the pads and cylinder. There goes more of the savings, I guess. Darn it.

Dax’s ear is healing, but he is of course making a nuisance of himself trying to get rid of the bandage all the time. Same goes for Knight II, who still insists on taking his bandage off his tail at least once a day.

I’ve been spending quite some time with tenant again, which isn’t bad if it weren’t so time-consuming. Ah, no helping it, I guess. Note to self: must make cream cheese tomorrow.
Sorry ‘bout that. Needed to remind myself. Hah.

Well, that’s gotta be it. I need to get to work on the edit. Luckily we had a relatively good one yesterday, because it is already eleven. Blast!