Monday, November 17, 2008

The Quantum of Solace

Last night I had a dream that I was James Bond's daughter. The new James Bond. Daniel Craig.
I was the product of one of his many "relationships" and I'd never met him, but he sent me money. You know, child support. But, one day I sent the money back to him with a note that said, "I don't want your money, I want to know you." So I went to see him and he showed me how he had the note posted on his wall. He said he cried when he read it.

And, I know this is corny, but in the dream he hugged me. And it was the strangest feeling. It was like absolute contentment and I told him I loved him. "I love you, dad."

When I woke up and started my day, even through convo, the feeling stuck with me (which often happens with my dreams). That I was someone's beloved daughter. And I realized, I am. So, I don't know if God gave me a strange dream to tell me who I was to Him, but, it's not outside the realm of possibility. Or the Quantum of Solace.

And no matter what I am in life, I realized, I am foremost a daughter. Someone's daughter.

then I killed a guy in the dream later...but I don't know if that has any spiritual application ;)

Me. Out.

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Thanksgiving Dinner a Week and a Half Early

I don't know why I feel it necessary to capitalize every important word in these titles.

I was walking back from the rot's Quasi-Thanksgiving Dinner tonight, and caught a whiff of something amazing on the sidewalk. It was the smell of fried food, lights and pavement. Normally that smell would mean: boardwalk. But today, maybe it was the way the wind caught it and pushed it around. It smelled like Maine. Stopped me dead in my tracks. Something powerful came over me. I could've died. Not really. But there had to be a climax to those sentences. But, OH how I wanted to be back in Maine. OH I miss you fishing off the dock. OH I long for you, lobster stew, OH I desire you, Cap'n Fish's Motel. OH man.

Sometimes when I walk up the hill to my dorm, my being out of shape forces me to inhale deeply, which forces me to take in the scents. Not to mention my nostrils being the size of two snow shoes. That helps too. But sometimes, I don't know what it is, the gravel or the wafting breeze from construction sites far away, but I smell Maine. It smells like granite and seaweed. Which is the smell of Maine. Or at least where I go.

Oh, wow. I could use another vacation. Couldn't we all?
And to all a good night.

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

I have no words to say about the election.

So if you were hoping for something about came to the wrong place.

Anyway. The word, Pub, is a funny word. In Literary Criticism today, Ali said something about how she imagined John Donne sitting in a Pub, talking to Death, in that one poem he wrote, whose title I can't remember.

But it brought me right back to the first time I ever heard the word, Pub. My brother and I used to be obsessed with shockwave games on the internet. And there was this one game with a little Aussie guy named Lennie or something. And you walked around in the outback avoiding snakes and playing games, and visiting his girlfriend in the "Pub," where she was watching Cricket on the tele. Yeah. It was the bomb. An educational bomb. There was something in that game about hitting toads with a truck, and they made this sandy little explosion sound. The bigger the toad, the more points. Kind of disgusting. Reminds me of driving home after a rainstorm and swerving for toads, but occasionally...well you get the idea.

There was another game on that webpage about a fat little guy who ran around a cookie factory, whimpering: "I'd like another cookie, plleeaaase!" And you had to watch out for guards and bloodhounds.

There used to be this webpage for Post Cereals too, all these games. I can't remember them individually. But, MAN, they were good times. That was back in the early days of the internet.

The last smattering of books I've read have been: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (Like, the 385th time I've read/seen it), Summer for Change by Liberty Alum Anna Walker, The second book in Bill Myers's "Forbidden Doors" series, aaand, C.S. Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet.

Next on the list is Jerry Jenkins's Riven, and Perelandra.

Good night, Neverland.