When I was a kid, I remembered my dreams without fail. I remembered the colors, the flavors, words spoken, tone and time. I remember rainbow-colored wave about to wash over me, falling from the sky, my mind racing to understand the cognitive lucidity of it all. As hard as I tried, I could never control my dream, could never end them, when fear struck, could never swim through maddening tides.
As I got older, the memory of dreams became less and less powerful. These, days, I typically remember dreams, while at work, of all places. As I sit at my desk, typing away, minding my own business, BAM! There it comes, a segment, the smallest fragment comes to life in my mind. Somewhat out of place, and totally caught off guard, the film in my head comes on and comes on strong...but very rarely am I able to place it, or remember what came, on the dream reel, before or after that split second.
Dangit! I hate that...right there...wait for it...nope. Can't remember a dang thing.
Well, everything changed this week.
Monday night I dreamed about this...
In a dream, I rode this baby, through a mass of trees, on a trail similar to that of where I grew up in, Half Moon Bay (HMB I love you). I remember riding a friend's horse, Silver. He was a gnar-gnar, that one. Pushing my leg up against the wooden fence post, nipping at my hair, eating apple slices from my back pocket, testing my bit skills, moving every time I swung my short-ass leg over his back. I imagine he laughed at me.
A lot.
Like, all the time.
That damn horse taunted me. And I totally loved him, mesmerized and hell-bent on riding like a natural. I'd ride in a canyon, with an sweeping hundreds of feet...down. Not like a sweet slope, I'm talking a massive drop. Major big-time drop. And Silver rode the very edge. I'd pull the reign to the right, and he would go with direction for a few minutes, and then we were scraping the edge of the trail again, as I watched small rocks slip over the edge, falling...falling...still going...couldn't hear it anymore. Silver was a pain in the tail, but he was old. He was probably smarter than me too. And he loved to punk me.
Dear Silver,
May you rest in peace, you punk. I never did learn to ride like a natural- but I did master the skill of cantering, thank you very much.
So, to re-cap, Monday I had a dream I was riding a horse, on a similar path, only this time, fighting branches overhead as opposed to falling off the edge of a cliff.
Last night, I had a dream I was driving one of these:
This one was fun. I've always had a thing for big trucks, and I say, if you're gonna get a truck, do it right.
Buy a big'un.
I don't remember this one, really. It came to me, during my drive to work this morning, and then all day long, I noticed a lot of Dodge trucks on the road. More so, I really wanted one.
And then, there's that whole "Secret" thing. Wish it, imagine it, see it...and it will be. Someday, I'll get the horse, a pygmy goat, and a lamb- and it will stay a lamb forever. Oh, I'll probably have to get some chicks. They can grow in to chickens- that's totally fine. I love chickens. They're really funny.
I'll name all these animals, and never eat them. Every rancher, 4-H Club member and my Grandpa (God rest his soul) and my dad and my boyfriend just rolled their eyes right then. When I said that.
The part where they wont be eaten.
Ha.
Where's it all coming from?
Well, it started with last Saturday, when I pulled out my old shite kickers from the closet.
I still have a faulty USB cord, so no pics and I dare not post a pic of just any boots, because no pair is even remotely as cool as my own, so you gotta just take my word for it, here.
I've also been listening to a lot of:
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| I totally love her...totally do. |
And since we're in confession mode, I've been listening to some of his stuff too:
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| Mom just gasped with this one....Dad's proud. |
So, here's what's so funny about all this.
My favorite bands in high school were The Cure and Depeche Mode. Mmmm, and Tori Amos. She's a staple. And, you see, the thing is, these genres are...mmmm...in negative relation to one another. They really just don't go together at all.
Though, I have to say, I grew closer the country thing when I determined Neil Young as my all-time, hands down favorite musician of all time. E.V.E.R. Only, I didn't know it at the time. Look folks, Neil wears cowboy boots. He may not heard cattle, but he got my freakin' foot in the door.
My summers were spent in North Carolina and my Mom's fam's from VA, baby, and well, I guess the music's in my blood, ears and head. Like it or not.
And then, there's the truth.
I love it.
I totally romanticize the ranch lifestyle, I know, and it's really out of my element. Though in high school, I had a crush on a cowboy, who didn't know I existed. And besides, who wouldn't want the view from their boudoir...
That's the thing about letting go of the box that defines you. You learn to open up a little, and start to appreciate some fragments outside of yourself. I love cowboy boots, and open land. I miss riding, and I want a big truck. I'd still blast Depeche Mode...and...Tori Amos from the speakers, mind you. I don't have a plot of land, or a yard to speak of, really, but I've planted herbs, peppers, tomatoes and flowers in pots. I live in the sticks now, and I love every second of it. I listen to Sara Evans when I'm outside, watering my planties. (That's planties, folks, not panties. Folks have a tough time with this Belleism).
And then, there are the memories of summers in North Carolina. The music brings back all the good parts of my past life. Folks who've never been to the South, experienced the calm the demeanor and charm...and food...just can't get my point here. The point, here is the calm that comes to me when I listen to country music, the smirk on my face when I think of cowboys, and the beauty of wide open space, well it's a small piece of bliss, in my head.
I guess that's stuff for another blog...
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