Agile dining

December 16, 2019

In dreams, anything can be anything, and everybody can do. We can fly, we can turn upside down, we can transform into anything.      ~ Twyla Tharp

I’ll take a pass on transforming into this squirrel. One, she hangs upside to eat and, two, she eats suet which is made with all sorts of stuff I avoid except on behalf of birds.

That’s right…birds. Not squirrels. Can someone please let her know the squirrel food’s on the back fence?


Clearwater, Florida. June 2, 2018.

In art and dream may you proceed with abandon.
In life may you proceed with balance and stealth.
                                                              ~ Patti Smith

Dancing with the stars

We’re told to reach for the stars, but sometimes they’re not above us. Sometimes those stars are next to the trail, close enough to touch.

And sometimes if we keep very, very still we  might also catch a glimpse of a fairy dancing among the stars.

Here’s wishing for a magical Monday . . .


Sweet dreams are made of this

Last night I dreamt I got a card in the mail from my agent. I opened the card and read what she’d written: “We finally did it! We sold your book!”

Photo by Padli Pradana from Pexels

It was such a wonderful feeling. I screamed and jumped over and over. Much higher than I’ve ever jumped in real life. I don’t know what my vertical leap was in the dream, but I’m pretty sure I could’ve dunked over LeBron.

My elation powered my legs as up, up, up I went. I floated on pure joy. I can kinda, sorta still feel it, but the sensation’s starting to fade. Wish I could’ve bottled it so I could get a whiff of that feeling when I need a boost of confidence/optimism.

That was a damned good dream.

Twofer Tuesday: tulip edition

A few minutes ago I was working in my front yard, sowing death and destruction via my homemade weed killer (white vinegar, salt, and dish soap), while feeling frustrated and worn out by neverending garden demands. I was dreaming of a full-time gardener. Or better yet, a tiny house and one pot of geraniums. Or maybe a barrel of gasoline and a match to make it all go away.

Then I hit PAUSE on my grumpiness and focused on some blooming tulips.

It really is a wonderful thing to survive a long, dark, cold, snowy winter and be rewarded with colorful flowers. I’m still dreaming of my own gardener, but in the meantime I’m gonna try to appreciate the beauty poking through the tangled, weedy mess that is my front yard.

Overdose of swag

I watched a whole lotta college basketball yesterday and saw some amazing plays. My absolute favorite, though, came in the Michigan – Houston game last night. Michigan was behind 63-61 with 3.4 seconds left. Michigan inbounded the ball and got it to Jordan Poole, a freshman player I’d all game referred to as Shorty Shorts, who threw up a 3-point shot to beat the buzzer.

Here he is just after releasing the ball and then being chased by ecstatic teammates:

The craziest 3-point shooting form ever.

Jamie Squire/Getty Images








When asked about the unlikelihood of his freshman player who hadn’t scored in the second half making that shot, Michigan coach Jim Beilein said that Jordan Poole has “an overdose of swag.” He said Jordan makes buzzer beaters in practice all the time and that he dreams of making them in games.

Well, that dream came true. And if it took an overdose of swag to achieve it, then sign me up. I’m officially adopting some of that swag.

Like this Northern Flicker, my feathers are ruffled

And it’s starting to feel as if those feathers will be in a permanent state of ruffle. It’d be awesome if we could drag all the cave people back to their caves, slide boulders in front of the entrances, and starve their mean-spirited carcasses to enlightenment.

A bird woman can dream, can’t she?



Like having a dream

For me, writing a novel is like having a dream.
Writing a novel lets me intentionally dream while I’m still awake.
I can continue yesterday’s dream today,
something you can’t normally do in everyday life.

~  Haruki Murakami


Writing a novel is a pretty cool gig, all right. Except for when the process turns nightmarish. Other than that, though, it’s a dream. Really.


Setting Goals and Reaching Them


Just found out that Zebu made the junior varsity basketball team for summer league.

                                                                                    image from

The boy is a work horse.
Not naturally gifted, but an incredibly hard worker who went after what he wanted.

I could learn a lot from him.

Coco’s Nightmare


Coco: Last night Zippy had a dream Tracy let a bunch of otters into the house.
Apparently, I didn’t much like them.

                                                                                                                                                    © Wildebeest 2011

Can you blame me?

                                                     image from                                                                                                               

Dreaming in 2011


2010 didn’t work out the way I’d thought and hoped,
but that’s why it’s called Life.

I’m headed into 2011 with my healthy, mostly-happy family,
and a brand new project that makes me grateful to be a writer.

I have hopes and dreams for 2011 and will try my hardest to make them come true.
Just like this blue jay.

                                                                                                                                                      © Tracy Abell 2010
I wish each and every one of you a Happy New Year,
and look forward to cheering you on in 2011 as you reach for your dreams.

Naked Dreaming

When I was going to school here for my teaching credential, I took a class on dream interpretation from a soft-spoken professor named George Jackson.  He taught us the Jungian approach to working dreams and told us to drink a glass of water before going to bed and to keep a notebook and pen next to the bed so we could write down our dreams when we got up to pee.

George said an unworked dream is like an unread letter.
I think about that a lot.
Which isn’t to say I work all my dreams.
I don’t.
Not for quite some time.

This morning I had a dream between waking with Zippy and when it was time for me to get up.
Don’t worry.
I won’t bore you with the details.

Suffice to say it included
a slide
swimming pool
and an LJ friend who recently sold two books.

The dream was rife with symbolism.
And at first I thought it did not bode well for me and my career.
But as I let the symbols and feelings flow and connect,
I realized it was a perfectly wonderful dream.

And not just because it included a tall, super-fast slide.



The most significant dreams came to me shortly after my friend Pete died.  He was actually murdered.  One night I entered into a dream and Pete was there.   He said, "I want to take you to this place where I live."  I thought, Well, that’s interesting.  When we arrived, I saw it was a wonderful idyllic setting with a lot of creatures flying around: elephants, camels, people.  I said, "I’d like to try flying myself."  And he said, "Sure, but since you’re not dead, you have to go over to that booth there and rent some wings.  They’re only a quarter."  I said, "Great," and I went and rented the wings.

I took off, and I was flying around with all the other people, having a wonderful time.  All of a sudden, I realized, "This is ridiculous.  How can I fly with these twenty-five-cent wings?"  Immediately I started to fall.  I was terrified I was going to die.  Then I thought, Wait a minute, I was just flying a minute ago, and I started flying again.  I went back and forth with this — falling and flying, falling and flying — until it finally dawned on me what this was about.  I said to myself: It is not these wings that enable you to fly, it’s your own confidence.
                 – – – Amy Tan in WRITERS DREAMING: Twenty-six Writers Talk About Their Dreams
                        and the Creative Process


Apropos of Nothing

“As an autobiographer I don’t seem to have to dream. There’s a place I get to that’s a little like dreaming. Almost dreaming but I’m awake. It’s an enchantment.
You know, from the age of seven and a half to twelve and a half I was a mute. I believed at the time that I could make myself, my whole body, an ear. And I could absorb all sound. Those years I must have done something to my brain, or with it, so that the part of the brain which would have been occupied in the articulation of speech and the creation of sound, those electrical synapses, did something else with themselves. They just reinvented themselves so that I’m able to remember incredible amounts of data. I would say I get along reasonably well in about seven or eight languages. I have spoken as many as twelve. I have taught in three. I seem to have total recall or none at all. And so, when I need to get inside myself, I can do it without going to sleep.”

—Maya Angelou in WRITERS DREAMING: Twenty-six Writers Talk About Their Dreams
and the Creative Process

(Sometimes I pull a book off the shelf and see what jumps out at me. This is what I found today. Possibly the universe is suggesting I shut up and listen a bit more. Today’s goal: become an ear.)