Dream Anatomy

Whale bone on beach.  (not my photo)

I dream.  I dream constantly, deeply, sometimes (well, truthfully, often) when I am awake. I know the territory of my dreams well- when I am very stressed/anxious (hurt animals, apocalypse), when I am nervous about something I have been avoiding, but want to do (the huge house with mysterious rooms full of objects- arouses curiosity but is haunted by something old and not-so-nice), when I am angry (arguments, car crashes, fire and burning trees in particular). Or out of control (wild, wild students and a blended Pender/Trask school setting).  These are all (thankfully) rare, they are disturbing but a key that something major needs tending to, and are thus of value.

My most common dream is the connecting dream, the communication type dream- this is most nights, during naps, and they are, for the most part, pleasant. (Unless I am feeling guilty about something, or have done something that would not be approved of)  These dreams star family members, friends, sometimes students, rarely celebrities. Mostly they are of Mother and Daddy, and involve just daily life- going out to eat, conversations in front of the tv or at the dinner table, the occasional car ride.  There are family dinners, visits from and to relatives, husbands, ex-husbands, Grendel, my sisters, all of the old people, endless parades of students (sometimes good, sometimes rowdy), Mr. Owens, Melissa, our pets (past and present- sometimes I dream of pets that other folks have probably long forgotten- Aunt Gladys's Chumley dog, or Candy, the ball chasing dog at Uncle Mike's and Aunt Anns.  Or Blackjack, the first horse I ever rode).  Most of these dreams are full of sensory delights- I can feel the wind, or the sun on the saddle, smell the air or perfume (sometimes perfume I am not fond of, like Emeraude), hear conversations, music, noises- and almost all of these dreams include food of some sort. They are a comforting connection, even though sometimes there is arguments, or scolding- but most often stories and small adventures.

Then there are the sea dreams.  These are the dreams that seem to shine in parts.  The story begins with a set up- for some reason I have to travel back to the ocean, and most often that is the one in California- around Morro Bay but up through Cambria and San Simeon as well, down to Los Osos and Hazard Canyon.  (There are other scenes- the bridge across to Pensacola beaches that I went to once, the waterfront at Southport, my beloved Oak Island or unknown stretches of sand). The set up is always important, and involves a journey, money, time and finding employment/place to stay.  There are maps, and travel, and mountains and then wandering around Morro Bay/ the Embarcadero trying to find the place to stay- I pass by the stores (some are the same, some different) and the boats- but I do not go in.  Usually I am with someone and and I am telling them about the area, how it is different from what it used to be, what I remember.  There is the store that had the seal that we loved to feed, the Shell Shop that I worked in, the Fish Bowl where I belly danced and whose take-out had great fish and chips, the place where Dad and I would get clam chowder and frozen chocolate covered bananas.  The brewery where I learned about coffee, and the annexed companion stores where I sold candy and polished brass.  The Rathskeller that had the best French-Dip sandwiches ever.  The sand on the side walk, the boats at the wharves (not pleasure boats but working boats that smelled of fish and diesel), the bright Tiger's Folly ready to take tourists on a harbor cruise.  Stores that Mother and I would wander around, then go get fish and chips to take down to the rock and eat in the car while looking at the sea.  I never tired of the Embarcadero, and I still don't-  

Once there though, there is the sea part of the dream.  A bad sea dream is that I get there, get settled, and then it is time to return home and I have yet to see the sea itself.  I am panicy and missing it- but it is time to go.  The medium sea dream is that I am there and in proximity to the sea- at the beach, along the shore, but doing something else... I am wanting to go explore, but first I have to complete a task.  Sometimes I get to explore, sometimes I do not- but just being there is important.  The best dreams are the finding dreams.  The dreams where I get to roam the beaches, rocks, tidepools and salt march (yes, march not marsh- different things.  The salt 'marsh' is where the reeds grow thick, the march is the part that is muddy and uncovered by tides).  When I roam I find things, amazing things.... 

I have drempt of the aftermath of storms and shipwrecks, where I find a mixture of sea wrack, objects, shells and antiques (last time I had this dream one of the things I found was a beautiful red-gold carnival glass pitcher- carnival but cut glass at the same time, heavy.  I brought it back to shore and everyone was amazed it wasn't broken...).   Usually it begins with finding some small shells, things local to the area, then uncovering some amazing high-quality shells- and I think, 'this is not native to this area, or I didn't know this lived here, or even I wonder who put this here?' but then I uncover more- they shine and are amazing.  I can see clearly how they set into the sand, how the froth from the surf surrounds them just a bit with white foam, how they glisten from the combination of sea water and sunlight.  Other people are around usually, sometimes they find things as well, sometimes they just don't care about them.  I am amazed that they do not see what I do, cannot appreciate the magic of the find.

Last night I dreamed of Oak Island, and returning to it.  Sue and Tom Podlucky were in the dream- along with MJ and Troy- but they were a bit older, around 9-10ish.  We were on the mainland, Charles was there, and I had just gotten out of the hospital from an operation.  Not a major one, but something small.  We were looking to move back to the island, looking for potential work, places to live.  I was supposed to go to the doctor and get the stitches removed, but decided that I had time to ride down to the end of the island 'just for a quick look'.  I was riding a bike, which is strange since I haven't a bike and don't particularly like to ride them.  But I crossed the bridge, then turned down the main road (which is Embarcaderoish for here- gas stations and beach stores, coffee shops etc.)  I went to a few stores just to look, and look for work- then I was down at the area where the stores turned into residential streets.  There was a fellow selling beach toys in a parking lot, and other things, he was dressed professionally though in khaki pants, blue oxford shirt and a tie.  We talked and then he left work to go down to the end of the island with me- we went along the coast road, and it was different from the real Oak Island.  It curved around a small park (I told him Barbie had gotten married there, and rode into the wedding on a fire truck of all things) then to an area at the end of the island where the really, really big expensive houses are.  There was one under construction that looked like a castle, I recognized it from an architectural magazine article- the turrets were sitting on the sand because they decided against them due to wind from hurricanes.  We discussed the potential value of the turrets  then I began looking along the sand at the shore.  There were piles of wrack- stones, broken shells, seaweed- and I began finding things in them.  Not shells this time, but bones (a first- I do collect bones as well as shells, including beach bones.  But I haven't found beach bones in a dream before).  These bones were small common bones.... then I picked up something odd to look at.  It was bone but also dried skin that was translucent white (like fish bones are)- but I could see the outline of the dentition and eye sockets   There was a feather still attached to the back of the head, and it was the size of a softball.  I decided that it was the skull of an Indian, mummified, shrunken and preserved by the action of sea, sand and sun.  I kept looking and in a bit discovered another skull- but this had the whole body attached.  It was shrunken and dried, the same pearly white, about the size of a small child or large doll.  I picked this up as well.  It was time to head back and so we did- I remembered about the Dr. Appointment and discovered that a) I missed it and b) I didn't really care.  I did care though that I would be home later than expected and that Charles would worry.  The man went back to work, I kept along the road pushing the bike and carrying navy blue drawstring bags with the bones in them.  I met Sue and the kids- they were at some scout activity thing- and we walked together for awhile.  I kept setting the bike aside to rest, then walking on forgetting it.... I would send Grendel (who magically appeared) back for it.  I kept tight hold of the bone bags though, and showed Sue what was in them.  (She was polite about it, but not all that impressed).  At the end of the island I saw the man again with his wife and daughter- they were coming from the fire station fish-fry.  He told me he got a new job and was moving to Flordia, and the old one was there if someone wanted it.  I turned to walk across the bridge and saw more bones by the dumpster, but these were the brown greasy bones left by recent roadkill, with a few shattered white ones thrown in.  Dog, deer, a flat cat.  I let them be and crossed back over the bridge, carrying my bags and pushing the golden bike.

And that was my adventure last night, and I feel good for telling it.  There was more- lots more- I left out various details about job interviews, African art, food, singing with little girls and telling someone that I wished I was 35 again.

Today I am writing but restless, I have work to do and the computer is slow, I want to go to the beach and walk on the sand- but it is very cold, the beach is far away and gas is expensive. I can wait... and search for bones in my dreams.

Kitty Kitty Kitty

Kitty.  By Danielle, 2012

This is one worried kitty.  At school it is review time for exams- every day I give the kids 5 content questions (for homework) and a technical problem to solve in class. So far- fingers crossed- it is working out great and is a much more engaging/ dynamic way to review.... but of course, some of them get a bit off task when I am going over the previous days questions, especially students like this one who are smart, talented and pay attention/ learn it the first time.  Danielle is one of my favorites- she is a very together, beautiful young mother who works hard and excels all round.  Her 'turn-it-in' art work is thoughtful and well done- very creative along with talent and craftsmanship.  (on a side note, I have had both her sister and brother in class- both good kids, her brother is autistic and I worked with him for many years... he loved 'Sister Wendy' the art-critic nun, and constantly drew pictures of her, me and everyone in class- he graduated the same year as Grendel.)  Anyway, Danielle.  She was listening but playing around with some stray charcoal on scrap paper.  First she started sketching a realistic eye, then decided to do something else, flipped the paper over and drew Kayla across the table as Sonic the Hedgehog (complete with glasses and weave), then this cat- which she named for the guy sitting next to her.  

What do I like about this cat?  It's cute, it's funny, it looks very very worried (just like Isiah... he was focusing hard, hard, hard on the review) and it just is a rough, impulsive drawing that happens to be full of character and spirit.  I love it when things like this happen in class- much more than the polished academic work (though that is important) but when a student can just magic something up that plays with their creative impulse.  Then I know that the imagination/creativity part of art is working, and that is so much fun. 

Right now I am feeling much better, much more cheerful and balanced.  It might be the oatmeal, it might of been the holiday and getting over that narsty flu thing, it might be because I am kinda sorta caught up on work. I have a new sketchbook (right before Christmas) and I am playing in it, drawing and writing and collaging and painting and having fun in a way I didn't with the last one.... that one seemed a bit off even from the first page.  I'm learning, or rediscovering something that I keep forgetting when I get so work-busy or money-stressed, that I need to play as well.  Play in my sketchbook, play on this blog, write my little story-essay-rant-whiny things... it grounds me, excites me and resets my mind.  It makes me happy, like this little cat.

Microscopes and the Day of Small Omens

Sketchbook page from 'Vote', Fall 2012

Today- and some of yesterday- is a day of small omens.  Good? Bad? Well, omens of disruption, an odd current running through the world.  It started with my phone, which inexplicably refused to disconnect from a call.  Thus no one could call me, and I could call no one, or access any normal phone stuff.  Of course I was blissfully unaware of this all day until the manz called my office phone after work... I though it was a case of lost signal, so I went out to the car, which turned on to the mileage of 66660 (I took a picture! weird).  And then I fixed the phone (when in doubt, turn something off, wait a bit, turn it back on again.  Most always works for computer things.)  Anyway, small but weird.

This morning it was nothing so obvious- just little annoyances one after the other.  The cat threw up twice, Bear howled when my alarm went off (she doesn't usually howl- but this was full-on bloodhound voice, which the manz miraculously slept through. Now, he magically wakes up if I sneak out of bed for a midnight m&m, but dogg howls?  Nothing to em.).  Then I split the wet coffee grounds, and then the dry coffee.  Thought I was grabbing one color of shirt but ended up with another.  Just small things. Slightly curious things.

Anyway, onwards.  Of microscopes and sketchbooks.  Yesterday while my students were working, I began to photograph my sketchbooks.  Part of something that I've wanted/ needed to do for a long time- so let's call it a New Years Resolution.  Most of them have names, some don't, and I am notoriously bad at dating things so it takes some detective work to figure out what year they are from.  I managed to get through three books yesterday- 2 from last year and one from 2010- a total of 300 some odd photos of double paged spreads.  Not portfolio quality pictures (or work) but just so I don't have to frantically shuffle through physical books when I am trying to find something.  And for posterity, or at least the illusion of it.  An interesting journey into how I record my world, thoughts, life... and what I tend to draw over and over.  One of those things is my microscope.

I've always, always, loved science- and it seems that there has always been a microscope in my life.  I remember a small red plastic one when I was little, and an older one in a case.  I know one Christmas Sue and Tom gave me a nice one- with slides and cover slips and all the good things.  In college I had access to labs full of scientific scopes... and then somehow I ended up with no microscope at all.  Awhile ago at the auction- after I met the manz, before we were married I think- I acquired a nice, small, very old brass microscope.  I don't use it for looking through so much (though it does work), but I use it for looking at.  It lives in our living room on one of our curiosity shelves at the moment.... and I draw it often.  Very often, as it turns out... more so than I thought I did.  One of my enduring symbols, I suppose.  The drawing above was done this fall- ink pen for the most part (both sides)- while watching something or other on TV.  The color side is of our hearth- the red glass cornucopia, rocks brought back from Asheville, pine cones, blue hydrangeas from the yarden, the cauldron, horseshoe and gold rug. On the right, plain black pen- other things on our shelves- one of the butterflies, Charles's magnifying glass, ink bottle and quill pen, some random grass (just for decoration!) a plate-thing, for some reason unknown the letter 'f' and number '5', and the microscope.  Just bits and spots of our things, our lives, one night in front of the TV.

Mr. Owens and his Sisters~

Gayle, the Manz and Karen

We went to the farm for Christmas, and for the-day-before-my-birthday.  I love going to the farm for holidays- (or most anytime).  This year there were extras- Gayle and her husband and the boys showed up unexpectedly on the 23rd.  For years they lived out west in Seattle or Portland or somewhere, so only visited occasionally in the summer- but now they are re stationed in Florida so it is not that bad of a drive.  So for Christmas there was a full house- Gayle's family, Karen and her husband and Eric (who is in the military and just a bit older than Grendel), Us and Grendel of course.  And the doggs- CoCo, Lacy and Baxter (from Flordia).  Our doggs stayed at home- they smell bad and are to large for any but 'outside' dogg parties. But Santa had brought them bones, so they were more or less content.

Huge feast, of course- ham, field peas, potato salad, okra (yay!), rutabagas (double yay!), sweet potatoes (extra for Grendel), corn... probably something else that I don't remember right off... coconut cake, carrot cake.  For my birthday we had jambalaya, beans, more corn (yay), more okra (double yay again!) and chocolate cake with the *right* kind of icing.  (And I appreciate that- everyone else in the universe may like the whippy kind, but I like the old-school solid sugar thick-as-a-brick kind that is good for decorating). The cake had these lovely blue flowers that looked like silk flowers, but were made of sugar.  I took a picture, but it didn't turn out (still getting used to the camera)... they were beautiful but not-so-tasty.  Probably made of fondant gum or the like, but lovely just the same.  And truth-be-told, I don't need more sugar!

It's funny over there though- as you can see by the picture Mr. Owens and sisters are all tall and skinny and have nice long hair.  What you can't see by the picture is that Mr. Owens and sisters all married 'gingers' who are comparatively short and decidedly well-fed.  While Gayle's boys are in the teenage growing category and therefore don't count, both Eric and Grendel are also well-fed gingers.  Bears and rabbits.  Tall rabbits.  Very tall rabbits.  Very tall rabbits with great hair.  

Day after my birthday, I went to the city and Grendel took me out for Chinese (yay!  And yes, eating is a celebration... which is why I am a well-fed bear) and then to see the Hobbit... in 3D.  I have never been to a 3D movie before and was slightly dubious about wearing layers of glasses, but it all worked.  The movie was very well done (and made everyone appreciate dwarves in a new way), Mr. Owens pays more than a passing resemblance to Gandalf (a younger Gandalf, but the hair/beard are the same, as well as the love of 'grey') and yes, I ducked.  Not sure if 3D is my thing- some parts were a bit odd- but I did like it and it was a new experience.

Today- today is for back to school, back to work, back to non-holiday reality.  It is cold and raining, and that is ok, I have my ducks in a row and am ready to start again more or less.  Actually, as usual, the day before the restart of school after break is the *only* time I have trouble sleeping.  Kept waking up thinking that I slept through my alarm or dreaming that my class was in rebellion... then I would listen to the rain and doze back off... until 3:30.  Then I gave up, got up, did the dishes and made some tea.  It's all good.

Emerge: 2013

Hello world, welcome to a new year- again.  Which is a good thing for it automatically gives everyone the illusion of tabla rosa- a time to start over, try again, get ready for one more time.  A fresh approach to our old life.  All over resolutions are being made, along with promises, diets, quitting of-habits, cleaning of closets and beginning to exercise.  There will be a predictable slump in the sale of fast food and candy, and a rise in organics, treadmills and gym memberships.  People will start being nicer, try to save money, study harder, invest wisely, limit time for tv/facebook/games and other distractions.  Some of these good intentions will be absorbed back into reality- and some will stick to them doggedly for the whole year, a new religion of rules.  Some people will discover that good intentions are never enough, but then again....sometimes good intentions open doors to new paths, and changes are made.  And that is what we call hope.

For me, I make resolutions every year of one sort or another, and every year they end in a mixture of small changes, failed changes or.... well, truthfully, I don't quite remember what I resolve from year to year (unless I cheat and look- which is one reason that I write- so I can see who I've been and who I've become).  I remake lists yearly- I'm champion at lists- and am working on this one.  I started out with the idea of 13 resolutions for 2013, which is a good enough beginning.  Then I started playing with photoshop, and ended up with the 'Emerge' image, which created my theme for the year- emerging.  This past year I have been so sleepy, distracted, depressed, encased, that I identify with the Caterpillar, who creates a case to keep the world away.  To muffle everything on the outside, and who slips into the despair of dreams while it goes about the very hard business of transformation.  And then, without choice, it must emerge or give up and remain a cocoon.  I have decided to emerge.

Emerging is not easy, and there will be times that I want to retreat back into my cocoon.  Emerging is hard work, especially when you are not quite sure what you are going to turn out to be on the other side- (everyone hopes for butterfly, or at least a moth, but you might turn out to be a beetle, or ant or even a flea.  They all have their place, though I should hate to be a flea).  Ok, so I've made my mind up- and now, what to do but begin?  And so I will, and so the new year commences.

Truth be Told: End of the Year

Turrello on the Table

It is the last day of 2012, and time for wrapping things up, telling truths, old stories and cleaning house.  I haven't been writing much this fall because truth be told, I've been walking with the black dog and sometimes it has been hard to keep going through a day.  Why?  Because- I don't know why.  Is it not getting the job and losing confidence?  Is it from being so very sleep logged with no concrete explanation?  Is it because for the first time ever I not only took an incomplete and did not finish my classes, but didn't really care that I didn't?  I don't know why, but I've been in a mood of apathy, not caring, not connecting with anything- or much of anyone- going through work in a daze, on automatic- not teaching, enduring.  Which is bad.  Not writing, and for a long time- the old sketchbook- not creating anything but violent messy drawings that went all over the place.  Forming plans that never came to fruition, letting chaos pile up, forgetting time and place and money and working it into a tangled mess that I now have to pick my way out of.  Not learning, not cleaning, not even wanting to so much as shower- and my weight is up, my hair has inches and inches of gray showing, the brows haven't been plucked in months.  And I try to care- but it feels futile and is kinda hard to.  I *know* that is dysfunctional, and it *is* getting better- the holiday has done me good for the most part- and I *don't* mean to whine.  I hate whining and going on about something.  But at the same time I want to write out how it has been, how it is and hope to shed light on how it will be- hope.  Hope is always a friend.

I'm not sure now what I want to do.  I have been cleaning- deep cleaning, so far the bedroom and the studio- and we had our little Christmas here and at the farm.  Family, food, gifts- modest but good.  The boy was home for a day and a night- today I am going to the city to go to the movies with him.  (To see the Hobbit- which Aunt Gladys gave me the book- and the LOTR set- long ago.  It changed me then- it was my pivotal story growing up, the way Harry Potter was for Grendel's generation and other stories yet unwritten will be for the children of today).  The Manz has been on an 'Emergency' marathon- beginning with Adam 12 when we both had the flu (before Christmas, and it was super nasty)- for me, it is like being able to visit California.  I can smell the ice plant outside Station 51,  I know what the air feels like and the ground.  How very cold the Pacific is, even in summer.  How there aren't ever as many trees as you expect, and the leaves never turn in Southern California- I did so miss autumn there.  Here I miss the sea.

I have a new sketchbook- bought right before the holiday- and I have been working in it constantly.  It wakes me up and helps- I am actually exploring ideas (the Toynbee Idea), rediscovering mysteries (Gef the talking mongoose) and drawing, drawing, drawing.  My drawings are shifting back to normal, and the writing is there so I am feeling hopeful about that.  I haven't painted though- which I wanted to over break- but instead the cleaning and drawing and Emergency and web surfing have been good.  And I've found some time to read.  I am trying hard to work back into writing, communicating, school- being social and enthusiastic- though truthfully, I would rather be encaved at the moment.  (I know, I need to see Dr. Mike again soon- but the money is tight at the moment so it will have to wait).  And the money thing- while we are telling truths- is no ones fault but my own, and shifting addresses, bills to online, mortgage companies, lack of math skills and my general inattention.  It is a lean month, but the virtual check comes in the first of February  and I can get caught up then- at least so much as to keep our head above water.  Caught up is the best I can hope for, never ahead.  Films will be starting back up soon, and Mr. Owens will be back on set- he does so well at it and hopefully next year will be a busy one.  In the meantime, he is back doing the lockouts and training for the tow truck company, though it is not nearly as dramatic as Lizard Lick.

Right now I need to move on, need to create a change and the New Year is the time to do that.  According to one of my fortunes, my new year (which began yesterday) will be more energetic and I will cycle back into my normal cheerful, chaotic, creative self- which is great as I have had enough of this darkness.  Know though all of you that I love you, and value you, and dream of you often~ and that everything will be ok.

Snowqueen

Snow Queen (in progress)

     Children, children there are monsters in the woods.  And I can't tell you that enough, or how much we all fear that we can't keep them away with all our weapons, prayers, locks or magics.  They have been here since we have, and will remain until we are gone.  It's our story and our sorrow.

     Yesterday a school of small children fell into the woods, and the monster came.  I couch these words in the language of fairy-tales, because the news is all to full of the grim reality: 27 dead, 20 of them children- and the mother, the beloved principal (who was raising five girls, Brady-bunch style), the psychologist that tried to help, others yet unnamed.  The monster, who was someones son.  A teachers son, a special son, a straight-A son who for some reason that will-never-be-good-enough slipped into darkness.   And it is Christmas, almost.  And the president cried, and the sirens screamed, and parents waited the unimaginable wait.

     I am safe at home at my desk, with my husband in our tumbledown cottage, the worst of my worries confined to money, work and the flu.  My son is safe, my family is safe, my students- as far as I know- are safe enough as teenagers will ever be.  The clock ticks, the work waits, life goes on.  Elsewhere voices rise.

       In the aftermath of anything, there is a flurry of pointing and blaming:  the guns, the music, the video games, our culture of violence, mental illness, the fiscal cliff, who did or did-not win the election, bad parenting, over parenting, slack security, fear, over protection, not enough protection, bullies, temper, drugs, money, obesity, holidays, religion, jealousy, fear.....   truth is, it is everything and nothing.  Regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the possible whys- monsters come.  It is their nature, and it is a fearsome thing.

Of course, we can say that we make things easier- if the guns were not in the house, if he was a stranger to the school (truth: school culture equates teachers and their families as safe- it is no surprise that he, a teacher's son, walked right into the school.  They probably thought he was bringing her sub plans.) if we let things continuously slip through the cracks.  And there are suggestions from extreme to extreme- ban all guns, arm all teachers (now *that* is a horrible idea. Not only could most of us be reasonably over powered, but the mental pressure teachers are under....it's a matter of time before a teacher snaps, or over reacts, or just reveals that they were a monster in disguise all along).

           What can we do?  I don't know.  Those children- the locks did not keep them safe, their prayers and magics did not, nothing can bring them back.  There is despair in that, and seeds of fear that would twine around my heart and make me afraid to send my child out the door.  But there were others- prayers and magics answered, locks that did not fail, children that came home- and there is an equal amount of hope remaining.  And friends, as dark as the woods are, we must teach the courage to walk out that door regardless.  And have the courage to let them go.

          As for the monster, it is no mystery.  It is right there inside of everyone, along with the saint and the hero and the martyr- along with the loving parent, kind friend and thoughtful stranger.  Its that deepest darkest part of all of us, the part that is all mixed up with the id and shadow self, the reptilian rage of base impulse. The part of us that we might have to work to contain, or channel, or divert- we dance it down, work it out, exorcise it through watching/confronting our horrors face on.  The part that we sometimes hate- yet it is a necessary evil, for it holds the destructive power that sometimes we need to survive.

           I am not defending the monster of Connecticut here, not by any means.  Like a rabid dog, monsters need dealt with quickly, permanently and without sentiment. But I am cautioning that there is a need to look inside instead of out, to not place the blame on the sole influence of anyone or anything- however they may of contributed.  I am simply warning you, children, that the darkest woods, the woods with the most deadly monsters, are those inside of us, and it is best to tend to ourselves first. Know yourself and your monster, be realistic of what you may be capable of and guard against it.  Build your defense with prayer or magic or psychology or what ever you need to keep you sane, keep you balanced, watch for the cracks in the walls, let it out sometimes in safe places to rage or run or cry or smash jelly jars- then quiet it down, tuck it in, let it go back to sleep.  Whatever you need to do- just know it, do it.

           I have no answers, and truthfully, I don't know why I am writing this, except that I have a compulsion to.  My monster likes words, always has. Lets it breathe. All I know is that I am filled with the dark cloud of yesterday, and the sad/mad/helpless pain that goes with it.  I cannot imagine how those parents will continue, or how the children will survive their dreams- but they will.  Somehow, or not. 

         In the meantime there is life, and another day, and Christmas.  Bare trees against a sky, the turning of the year, the deep silence of winter.  God bless, god bless.