I went to see The Producers last night, and it sealed in my heart my love for three things: physical comedy, musical theatre, and Matthew Broderick. All of these things I have loved for a very long time, and this film was a combination of all of them.
First of all, physical comedy: I admire an actor's ability to use his body as another "language," the ability to do things which are very demanding and difficult, and which make him look like a complete idiot. I think it is amazing to watch something so hysterical, and realize how much time, effort, and choreography lie behind that seemingly simple bit. It takes timing, talent, and something innate that can't be learned or taught.
Next, there is musical theatre. It is my home, it is my past, it is my truest form of expression. It is its own genre. And to think that it encompasses things from Oklahoma to The Lion King to Les Miserables to Rent. There is something so enchanting about song and dance numbers, something so, well, naturally unnatural. I realize my background may be a little different than some, but it seems perfectly logical that one would stand on a desk and sing about, well, anything, then tap dance down the street, and yet it is so unexpected and incongruent in our everyday lives (I plan to change this...). How much better would life be if a soft underscore started at the proper moment and you could burst into a song perfectly tailored to your mood and just over-the-top enough to say what you are really feeling, complete with dancers and sets?
And last, but certainly not least, there is my beloved Matthew Broderick. I read an interview with him in Seventeen magazine when I was but a pre-teen, where he talked about his father and why he was an actor, and have adored him ever since. Long before Ferris. Long before Sarah Jessica (whore). Long before (and in spite of) Inspector Gadget. I named my beloved Kiste's firstborn after him. I stood in a long, cold line at Sundance one year to watch the taping of an interview with him for the Sundance Channel and to sit within 10 feet of him. I think I blushed the whole time. I find him endearing. I find him charming. I admire his "actorness" and willingness to become whatever role he is in. Love. Simple, pure love. Not that I want my adoration of MB to overshadow my admiration for Nathan Lane. I would certainly allow him to fill the role of "gay boyfriend."
As for the movie, I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I love the original film. I love the Lane/Broderick rapport. I love Susan Stroman (The Girl in the Yellow Dress?? Need I say more?). And I LOVE to laugh! Not perfection, but, they had me from "That's it baby, if you've got it, flaunt it! Flaunt it!!"
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Monday, December 26, 2005
Christmas Eve 2005
“Christmas Eve will find me, where the lovelight gleams.
I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”
Fitting that this carol comes from a musical, Meet Me in St. Louis. I have a standing date with my mom on Saturday nights. It used to be the one night of the week that she didn’t have rehearsal, and we used to drive around and listen to Show Tune Saturday Night. Well, since she has been gone, I have continued our “dates,” and Saturday night is when I go to visit her, now at the cemetery. This past Saturday night was no exception. I have never “known” anyone dead on Christmas, not like I do now, so I have never had occasion to go to the cemetery on Christmas Eve. When I drove up the hill that night, it was a sight that took my breath away, and brought tears to my eyes. All throughout the cemetery, luminaries dotted the hillside. It is strange that someplace like a cemetery has become so familiar and “homey” to me, but in June, it suddenly became one of the most important places in our community to me, and I am blessed to share it with others who have felt the same love, and loss, that I have. The hillside, dotted with warm light, was an amazing sight of visual love, glowing around the resting places of people who are far away from this home on Christmas. The pictures are a bit blurry, and can never do justice. But I will remember this Christmas Eve always.
Mom's Grave
Looking Up the Hill
Friday, December 23, 2005
Dr. Thwaits
Someone I know and respect greatly was dealt a great wrong today. Those of you who live in Utah Valley may have read something about a civil case involving the wrongful termination of Dr. Richard Thwaits from BYU. Today, the jury found in favor of BYU. I only recently did a little research into the details of the case, and had no idea how great an impact it had on my educational experience. I am heartbroken and devastated in behalf of “Dr. T” and the jury’s decision to rule in favor of BYU. I have worked very closely with Dr. T for over 4 years, and have the greatest respect and admiration for him as not only a veterinarian, but as an educator, leader, and human being. He is honorable, kind, deeply respectful, gentle, and patient. I have never heard him speak ill of anyone, and, believe me, there have been plenty who have deserved it. I often thought to myself what a different experience I might have had in the vet tech program at BYU with a teacher like Dr. T—before I knew that I SHOULD have had him as my teacher. I believe that questionable and trumped up allegations were made against him in an effort to remove him as a "roadblock" to others within the department who had their own vision of where the department should be headed.
The “short” version of the story is that shortly before I enrolled in the vet tech program at BYU, Dr. Thwaits, who was the chairman of the Animal Science department and director of the Veterinary Technology program, was dismissed after several allegations of inappropriate conduct. Dr. T was a tenured professor, and the entire way in which his dismissal was handled is questionable at best, but that is yet another matter. What happened inside the Animal Science department once he was removed is shameful. I started the program the semester after he was put on “administrative leave,” and was impacted for the next four years by the shuffling and politics within a department that was destroying itself from the inside out. If you drive along University Avenue, you may notice that the animal barns are no longer there. There was a full veterinary hospital which has been leveled. The arena and horse barns at the Ellsworth building are now used to store university equipment. As a student in the vet tech program, I found myself the victim of university politics. I was in a program which was unwanted and unsupported by its own college. Supporting courses, facilities, and opportunities crumbled around us as the program which Dr. T had defended was dismantled piece by piece. I didn’t know at the time what part Dr. T had played in building one of the most respected and successful Veterinary Technology programs in the country. But we, as students, were basically treated as backward, unintelligent farmers who didn’t belong at a prestigious university like BYU. I would gladly challenge ANY BYU nursing student to an educational and professional showdown. Because our patients have four legs instead of two and are hairy doesn’t make them any less complicated. In fact, try learning everything from anatomy to dentistry to radiology to nutrition to surgical assisting to pharmacology. Oh, and do it for eight or nine species instead of just one. And one other thing: your patient can’t tell you what’s wrong. I had all the same chemistry and microbiology classes as the pre-med, pre-dental, and nursing students. Yet because my application of that knowledge was to be with dirty, filthy animals, I was unwanted by my own institute of “higher” education. Those from within the department who had unseated Dr. Thwaits succeeded after all in removing any evidence of the Animal Science program is it had been. Their own selfish agenda were installed, at the expense of the education of the students.
The thing is, I was much luckier than 99% of the others in my program. I was still able to learn from Dr. Thwaits. I began working at a clinic during my first semester in the program. And lucky for me, Dr. Thwaits was one of the doctors there. I didn’t know him, hadn’t heard his name on campus, and for nearly four years wouldn’t even know his connection to BYU. But I was blessed to work with him, learn from him, and come to respect him as a veterinarian and person. I know him. I trust him. I came to these conclusions about him without any bias or knowledge about outside matters. They are from observation, interaction, and are based on very high expectations on my part.
In this particular case, I find it difficult to believe that jurors could have been found, especially in this community, who are willing and able to separate The University from The Church. I wish I had been called to sit on that jury. I should be a supporter of my alma mater and my own Department, right? And yet, I was victim to the same politics Dr. T fell victim to. I did have some very good professors, and a few who actually cared about their students and the subject matter. Most of them are also now unemployed or find themselves in “made-up” postitions. But it was a constant battle to maintain our footing, amid a feeling of antagonism and even hate. It is shameful.
I am proud to work with Dr. Thwaits. I am proud to know and support and love him. I will continue to learn from him, and I will continue to entrust my beloved pets to his care. And in the end, I am also proud that my degree from BYU is not in Animal Science at all, and that a now defunct department cannot lay claim to me as one of its own.
The “short” version of the story is that shortly before I enrolled in the vet tech program at BYU, Dr. Thwaits, who was the chairman of the Animal Science department and director of the Veterinary Technology program, was dismissed after several allegations of inappropriate conduct. Dr. T was a tenured professor, and the entire way in which his dismissal was handled is questionable at best, but that is yet another matter. What happened inside the Animal Science department once he was removed is shameful. I started the program the semester after he was put on “administrative leave,” and was impacted for the next four years by the shuffling and politics within a department that was destroying itself from the inside out. If you drive along University Avenue, you may notice that the animal barns are no longer there. There was a full veterinary hospital which has been leveled. The arena and horse barns at the Ellsworth building are now used to store university equipment. As a student in the vet tech program, I found myself the victim of university politics. I was in a program which was unwanted and unsupported by its own college. Supporting courses, facilities, and opportunities crumbled around us as the program which Dr. T had defended was dismantled piece by piece. I didn’t know at the time what part Dr. T had played in building one of the most respected and successful Veterinary Technology programs in the country. But we, as students, were basically treated as backward, unintelligent farmers who didn’t belong at a prestigious university like BYU. I would gladly challenge ANY BYU nursing student to an educational and professional showdown. Because our patients have four legs instead of two and are hairy doesn’t make them any less complicated. In fact, try learning everything from anatomy to dentistry to radiology to nutrition to surgical assisting to pharmacology. Oh, and do it for eight or nine species instead of just one. And one other thing: your patient can’t tell you what’s wrong. I had all the same chemistry and microbiology classes as the pre-med, pre-dental, and nursing students. Yet because my application of that knowledge was to be with dirty, filthy animals, I was unwanted by my own institute of “higher” education. Those from within the department who had unseated Dr. Thwaits succeeded after all in removing any evidence of the Animal Science program is it had been. Their own selfish agenda were installed, at the expense of the education of the students.
The thing is, I was much luckier than 99% of the others in my program. I was still able to learn from Dr. Thwaits. I began working at a clinic during my first semester in the program. And lucky for me, Dr. Thwaits was one of the doctors there. I didn’t know him, hadn’t heard his name on campus, and for nearly four years wouldn’t even know his connection to BYU. But I was blessed to work with him, learn from him, and come to respect him as a veterinarian and person. I know him. I trust him. I came to these conclusions about him without any bias or knowledge about outside matters. They are from observation, interaction, and are based on very high expectations on my part.
In this particular case, I find it difficult to believe that jurors could have been found, especially in this community, who are willing and able to separate The University from The Church. I wish I had been called to sit on that jury. I should be a supporter of my alma mater and my own Department, right? And yet, I was victim to the same politics Dr. T fell victim to. I did have some very good professors, and a few who actually cared about their students and the subject matter. Most of them are also now unemployed or find themselves in “made-up” postitions. But it was a constant battle to maintain our footing, amid a feeling of antagonism and even hate. It is shameful.
I am proud to work with Dr. Thwaits. I am proud to know and support and love him. I will continue to learn from him, and I will continue to entrust my beloved pets to his care. And in the end, I am also proud that my degree from BYU is not in Animal Science at all, and that a now defunct department cannot lay claim to me as one of its own.
Monday, December 19, 2005
My sixth through eighth stitches ever!Another dream
Last night a dreamt that HBO was selling off props from their show Six Feet Under. As a fan of the show, I was interested in looking, so I drove to the football field off of I-15 where they had rows and rows of caskets set up. There were fully costumed extras milling about for ambience: women with big hats and veiled faces, men in their Sunday black suits. There were hundreds of caskets which had been used on the show, either for set dressing, or otherwise. There were the usual black shiny ones, some plain wooden ones, and a plethora of tacky ones: one in ceramic with a Mickey and Minnie Mouse eternally at rest in a four-poster bed, one in resin with all the words to the song “The Clarinet, the clarinet plays doo-wah….The horn, the horn, it sounds so forlorn….” (ALL the instruments were listed) on the cover, and also one with a lovely Alpine chalet on the top. I found them to be rather tasteless, so I moved on to the set, where they were actually renting out rooms in the building that had once been the Fisher & Sons Funeral Home, where I saw a to-be-deleted scene being shot with Nate and David and some killer bees. I went with my real estate agent into one of the “rooms,” which were actually bare lumber backs of the sets, with unused set decoration, including one room with a horse halter and nametag from RiverWoods Pet Hospital on the windowsill. I looked out the window onto the back of an old warehouse-looking building, where Nate and David were throwing rocks at the top, knocking off bricks and ivy.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Mom's Guestbook
I have tried to include a link to my mom's online guestbook, but the site won't allow a redirect, so here it is.
Friday, December 16, 2005
SatanCoon
I love furry little creatures. This love has led me to my current profession as a veterinary nurse. Is there anything more charming than a furry little kitten or a romping puppy? What sweet, adorable, blood thirsty man-killers! I rarely finish a day without some battle wound—scratches, bites, bruises are a normal part of my “outfit.” One of the keys to being a vet tech is knowing the proper restraint techniques of different animals. I had an entire semester-long class on restraint. The purpose of proper restraint is to avoid stress and injury to the animal, and avoid injury to the care provider. There are the unavoidable mishaps, but if the person you are working with is properly restraining, everyone should come out relatively unscathed. Well, this picture-perfect scenario is not always the case. One person, even of my size, cannot properly restrain a Labrador Retriever. That is a 3-man job, in the very least. I don’t know if it is the extra legs that give Labs super-animal strength, but I dread seeing one walk through the door because I know I will spend quality time on the floor wrestling with all the strength I have in my body, and will be sore for the next 24 hours. But I’d take a Lab over a Chihuahua any day. They are evil. And don’t even get me started on cats…
One of my abilities is that I can talk to and calm down some beasts. There is something curiously soothing to them in my voice. Sometimes. Yesterday we were neutering a raccoon. This raccoon was hand raised by someone from the day he was born. There are a surprising number of pet raccoons around here, (especially since they are illegal) and we see quite a few of them. This big fella was over 30 pounds of raccoon. Picture if you will a large, round, ring-tailed cocker spaniel sized creature of enormous curiosity and strength. The three technicians took him into a room and let him wander around and get acclimated. He was cute and interested in everything, including me. I was the only one he really came up to, but he came and took my hands in his little black ones and gave me a good sniff of approval. Then we had to wrestle him to give his sedative. This made him VERY unhappy. After two of us held him down and one gave the shot, we let him wander again. I was talking to him, soothing the savage beast with my amazing voice. In a moment of COMPLETE idiocy, I decided to get the leash off his neck. He was shuffling around, and I crouched down as he came towards me just as he had before. This time, however, Satan was in possession of his body and a blood-curdling other-worldy snarl escaped his masked face as he lunged at me, open mouthed. I quickly jumped away, all of us screamed and ran from the room. But it was too late. He got me. The blood dripping from my hand was a clue. I started scrubbing, and found my right middle finger splayed open. Lovely. This resulted in a 3-hour trip to the Work Med office (scary, scary place) and multiple stitches. What an idiot I am. I will bear the scars of that lapse of judgment for some time, and will have raccoon flashbacks forever. No amount of soothing words are a replacement for a rabies pole and some good injectable tranquilizers.
One of my abilities is that I can talk to and calm down some beasts. There is something curiously soothing to them in my voice. Sometimes. Yesterday we were neutering a raccoon. This raccoon was hand raised by someone from the day he was born. There are a surprising number of pet raccoons around here, (especially since they are illegal) and we see quite a few of them. This big fella was over 30 pounds of raccoon. Picture if you will a large, round, ring-tailed cocker spaniel sized creature of enormous curiosity and strength. The three technicians took him into a room and let him wander around and get acclimated. He was cute and interested in everything, including me. I was the only one he really came up to, but he came and took my hands in his little black ones and gave me a good sniff of approval. Then we had to wrestle him to give his sedative. This made him VERY unhappy. After two of us held him down and one gave the shot, we let him wander again. I was talking to him, soothing the savage beast with my amazing voice. In a moment of COMPLETE idiocy, I decided to get the leash off his neck. He was shuffling around, and I crouched down as he came towards me just as he had before. This time, however, Satan was in possession of his body and a blood-curdling other-worldy snarl escaped his masked face as he lunged at me, open mouthed. I quickly jumped away, all of us screamed and ran from the room. But it was too late. He got me. The blood dripping from my hand was a clue. I started scrubbing, and found my right middle finger splayed open. Lovely. This resulted in a 3-hour trip to the Work Med office (scary, scary place) and multiple stitches. What an idiot I am. I will bear the scars of that lapse of judgment for some time, and will have raccoon flashbacks forever. No amount of soothing words are a replacement for a rabies pole and some good injectable tranquilizers.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
My Face??
It was a miracle that I was able to rouse myself from my NyQuil coma to get ready for work today. It took all that I had to get there-- last pay period before Christmas, you know. Well, I would consider it a good day because a) I showered and b) my scrubs matched. So I walked into work and Dr. Dobson, who (Heaven bless her) is INSANE looked at me in shock and said "what's wrong with your face???" The great irony here is that, well, NOTHING was wrong with my face, as far as I knew. Yes, I have had a second teenager-hood with some stress induced breaking out, which I had, ironically, tried to cover up a bit this morning. I wasn't wearing much make-up, which I usually don't do anyway. She said, in HORROR "were you burned? Did you go tanning? You are just so...RED!" So I went to check in the bathroom, and no, much to my chagrin, there was nothing but my usual, rosy cheeked self gazing back at me in the mirror. So, I guess the answer is that what's wrong with my face is that its mine. All mine. I knew I should have stayed in bed with my box of kleenex.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Seeing Rhinos
I finally got out of bed at 10 tonight to eat some soup. On my way back downstairs, I saw Wilson, the grey cat, sitting on a box by the front door. The way the light hit him, it caught only the tip of one ear. In my cold-medicine fogged mind I thought "wow. Wilson has a rhinoceros horn." This made complete sense to me, and it wasn't until I got to the bottom of the stairs that I realized I should have at least been slightly concerned.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Angry at the World?
I am angry at the world this week because I have a stubborn patch of grey hair on the top of my head which cannot be tamed. Since I have light hair anyway, it is not so much the color of the hairs that gets me, but the fact that they grow in curly. And on the top of my head. And they seem to grow in 3 inches at a time. I will find one, pull it out, and the next day in its place is another kinky, grey hair sticking straight up. WHY??? Am I destined to, for the first time in my life, have naturally curly hair once I reach 40? I wanted it when I was 10. I have been at peace with the mostly-straight hair I have. Why change now?
I am also angry at the world because I got caught by the folks in the car next to me having a full voice argument with, well, NO ONE. I was alone. Which also reminds me of being angry that I can’t drive in the carpool lane if my dog is in the car. I have found myself there, and then begins another imaginary argument with the officer who has pulled me over, explaining that it doesn’t specify that the 2 or more occupants be HUMAN.
I am angry because my right nostril is sore from the non-stop fountain of SNOT pouring forth from within my brain. Why is it only one nostril? Why such inequality? And where in the hell does it all come from?
I am angry because no one has replied to my ad for a new gay boyfriend.
I am angry at the world because I still haven’t fixed my car stereo and I am tired of listening to my own voice singing Christmas classics on the 4 minute drive to work. When I am not having an imaginary argument, that is.
I am angry because (and don’t read this if you don’t want WAY too much information about me) I am becoming more and more frustrated (for lack of a better word) with my lack of romantic “experience,” shall we say, which makes me more and more stand-offish which only makes the situation worse. For example, lets just say that this is my movie, only Michael Vartan hasn’t shown up yet and I sure as hell ain’t Drew Barrymore. I was supposed to have dealt with this in high school, right? Grey hair before first kiss AIN”T NATURAL. ( I can’t believe that I just admitted, on the internet, that I am a true, rare, VL. That is SO pathetic that I must move on immediately. After I say that NO ONE is allowed to use this against me. Or I will stab you to death with dull, sliver-y chopsticks. Used, MSG-covered Panda Express garbage can chopsticks.)
I am mostly angry at the world because, well, I’m just not really angry. I want to be. In some cases, I should be. I am just really passive aggressive about it, and therefore, I am NOT angry. I want to break things and swear and rant and be really, really angry. And instead I will take NyQuil to stop the snot-fountain and go to bed. Again. Still.
I am also angry at the world because I got caught by the folks in the car next to me having a full voice argument with, well, NO ONE. I was alone. Which also reminds me of being angry that I can’t drive in the carpool lane if my dog is in the car. I have found myself there, and then begins another imaginary argument with the officer who has pulled me over, explaining that it doesn’t specify that the 2 or more occupants be HUMAN.
I am angry because my right nostril is sore from the non-stop fountain of SNOT pouring forth from within my brain. Why is it only one nostril? Why such inequality? And where in the hell does it all come from?
I am angry because no one has replied to my ad for a new gay boyfriend.
I am angry at the world because I still haven’t fixed my car stereo and I am tired of listening to my own voice singing Christmas classics on the 4 minute drive to work. When I am not having an imaginary argument, that is.
I am angry because (and don’t read this if you don’t want WAY too much information about me) I am becoming more and more frustrated (for lack of a better word) with my lack of romantic “experience,” shall we say, which makes me more and more stand-offish which only makes the situation worse. For example, lets just say that this is my movie, only Michael Vartan hasn’t shown up yet and I sure as hell ain’t Drew Barrymore. I was supposed to have dealt with this in high school, right? Grey hair before first kiss AIN”T NATURAL. ( I can’t believe that I just admitted, on the internet, that I am a true, rare, VL. That is SO pathetic that I must move on immediately. After I say that NO ONE is allowed to use this against me. Or I will stab you to death with dull, sliver-y chopsticks. Used, MSG-covered Panda Express garbage can chopsticks.)
I am mostly angry at the world because, well, I’m just not really angry. I want to be. In some cases, I should be. I am just really passive aggressive about it, and therefore, I am NOT angry. I want to break things and swear and rant and be really, really angry. And instead I will take NyQuil to stop the snot-fountain and go to bed. Again. Still.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Pearls
December 7, 2005
On this day you entered the world,
New, shining, unknown.
The jesting message sent
To your father across the ocean—
A smile from you suffering mother,
Alone with one so new—
“Baby Pearl has arrived.”
You grew, explored, lived at full speed.
The world was your stage,
From cowboy plays to
The drama of growing up too smart.
Each new oyster of adventure opened itself to you,
Uncovering, you discovering, a pearl.
As a child, I remember sitting next to the most beautiful woman on earth,
Admiring, mimicking, adoring.
Your glowing, ever-ready smile to greet me,
Support me, guide me.
I would reach for your hand,
And trace the double line of your pearls.
Not so long ago, in a gesture so like
Everything you did,
You worked moonlight hours
To buy for us, your girls, a gift.
On Christmas we did not expect much,
But found, in each tiny box,
A string of pearls.
Now, as you seem so far,
Each glimpse of our past is a treasure.
Memories come, unexpected,
Familiar, beautiful.
They glow for a moment in my heart,
I catch that mischievous little wink of yours.
I treasure them.
Each tiny pearl.
December 7, 2005
On this day you entered the world,
New, shining, unknown.
The jesting message sent
To your father across the ocean—
A smile from you suffering mother,
Alone with one so new—
“Baby Pearl has arrived.”
You grew, explored, lived at full speed.
The world was your stage,
From cowboy plays to
The drama of growing up too smart.
Each new oyster of adventure opened itself to you,
Uncovering, you discovering, a pearl.
As a child, I remember sitting next to the most beautiful woman on earth,
Admiring, mimicking, adoring.
Your glowing, ever-ready smile to greet me,
Support me, guide me.
I would reach for your hand,
And trace the double line of your pearls.
Not so long ago, in a gesture so like
Everything you did,
You worked moonlight hours
To buy for us, your girls, a gift.
On Christmas we did not expect much,
But found, in each tiny box,
A string of pearls.
Now, as you seem so far,
Each glimpse of our past is a treasure.
Memories come, unexpected,
Familiar, beautiful.
They glow for a moment in my heart,
I catch that mischievous little wink of yours.
I treasure them.
Each tiny pearl.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Pieces of Me
Long before Ashlee Simpson performed her song, I gave a vivid dream I had the title “Pieces of Me.” I have always thought would make a great short film. What do you think?
In my dream, I am walking at night along the top of sea cliffs—much the way I envision the Cliffs of Dover— not craggy and harsh, but smooth and sheer. There is enough moonlight to see clearly. I am walking alone, but I see people in the distance, most of them standing alone, peering over the edge of the cliff at the sea beneath. As I get closer to each of them, I recognize them as friends, some as family, all of them familiar and beloved. As I get close to them, I see that they are looking over the cliff and contemplating jumping to the sea below. I reach to them, try to convince them not to jump. But as I approach, each of them gazes at me with a look of inevitability, of resignation, and leaps. I feel a tangible tug at myself as each of them disappears over the edge, but I struggle to maintain my balance on the cliff, and keep walking toward the next person. As each additional person makes the leap off the edge, I feel lighter and lighter and unable to stand against the blowing wind on the top of the seacliffs. I stop and look over the edge, and in the black waves breaking against the base of the cliffs, are small pieces of something bobbing on the water, attached by thin strings to all my dear ones who are floating in the water. As I look closer at the floating pieces, then look down to where the wind is blowing through me, I realize that they are pieces of ME. The tugging I felt as each person went over the cliff was a piece of myself inseparably attached to them, lost forever to the waves. As I make this realization, the view pulls back and I see myself standing alone on the cliff, the sea wind blowing through the holes in me as I look to the waves below.
In my dream, I am walking at night along the top of sea cliffs—much the way I envision the Cliffs of Dover— not craggy and harsh, but smooth and sheer. There is enough moonlight to see clearly. I am walking alone, but I see people in the distance, most of them standing alone, peering over the edge of the cliff at the sea beneath. As I get closer to each of them, I recognize them as friends, some as family, all of them familiar and beloved. As I get close to them, I see that they are looking over the cliff and contemplating jumping to the sea below. I reach to them, try to convince them not to jump. But as I approach, each of them gazes at me with a look of inevitability, of resignation, and leaps. I feel a tangible tug at myself as each of them disappears over the edge, but I struggle to maintain my balance on the cliff, and keep walking toward the next person. As each additional person makes the leap off the edge, I feel lighter and lighter and unable to stand against the blowing wind on the top of the seacliffs. I stop and look over the edge, and in the black waves breaking against the base of the cliffs, are small pieces of something bobbing on the water, attached by thin strings to all my dear ones who are floating in the water. As I look closer at the floating pieces, then look down to where the wind is blowing through me, I realize that they are pieces of ME. The tugging I felt as each person went over the cliff was a piece of myself inseparably attached to them, lost forever to the waves. As I make this realization, the view pulls back and I see myself standing alone on the cliff, the sea wind blowing through the holes in me as I look to the waves below.
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