Student Forebodings

I've been teaching college for more than ten years now, so I've had a wide array of students. But I have to wonder if other teachers have had students predict doom for their children.
That's just strange.
Four years ago, I wrote about a student who emailed me to tell me that he'd had a dream that one of my sons was "harmed" and I received a $300  million payout from the company responsible. Of course,this threw me into a tizzy. I assumed the dream must have meant that one of my sons was

killed, otherwise I wouldn't be receiving a payment from the company that "harmed"  him.
Imagine how surprised I was when a student approached me this week with a similar message. "I don't know you well personally, but is everything okay?" she asked me.
I thought she referred to my attitude in class that night, so I told her that I got peeved at the class before she arrived late.
"But is everything okay with your son?" she asked.
"Do you know my sons?" I asked.
"No, but I get hunches about things and I wanted to know if everything was okay with your son."
Then she left.
And there I sat. remembering when Muhanned had written to me about his dream. His at least had some details, none that I could act upon. Hers was incredibly vague.
I texted both boys and they responded to me.
Now I'm just paranoid about everything. Something could happen to my sons. They could walk out of the house and get hit by a car. They could get sick. Do I need to increase the amount I worry about my children, is that what the message means?
Like last time, I'm going to assume that there's nothing I can do to make sure they stay out of harm's way. They're adults who drive cars and go out with friends. I can't lock them in my basement to try to keep them safe.
All I can do is make sure my relationship with them is good, that they know they are loved, and hope for the best.
But there is something I would like to say to those soothsayers who contact me about a foreboding feeling. THAT'S NOT HELPING!
Unless you have details, like, "Don't let your son drive on Broad Street on February 13," or "Your son should have his thyroid checked for cancer," then your prediction does nothing but make me paranoid.
Should I take the boys for total body scans and then lock them up for safety?
Life is to be lived, and if I'd locked them up four years ago after the first dream, then they'd have missed out on a lot.
So I'll continue encouraging them to explore the world and how they can make it better.
And the next student who has a strange feeling or dream, better come with some details.

Dreams..

It's a funny thing about dreams, how they grab hold of your heart and squeeze.
And who knows why one dream ignites in a person, and a different dream ignites in another person.
This morning, after a walk in the early morning quiet, I turned on the Tour de France. It's only day two and they're in the Netherlands, but as they biked through the narrow medieval streets of Utrecht, the camera focused on the buildings, with their curious step down roof lines, I felt that longing once again to be there, in Europe, in France.
I want it so much that it hurts.
Synapses fire in my brain, nudging me to figure it out so that I can live in France.
I thought of dreams earlier this week too when my running friend Noreen sent a text message that she and her husband had reached Las Vegas and were driving to the Sierra Madres mountain range.
She sent this picture

And said, "Our first glimpse of the Sierras! I am home"
That made my heart soar -- to feel that sense of accomplishment, that dream fulfillment with Noreen.
I take a bit of credit for helping Noreen focus on her dream, because I'm the one who convinced her to join me on a hike on the Appalachian Trail nine years ago as I researched my novel Trail Mix. She accompanied me again on a second hike, and she hasn't looked back. She hikes in the wilderness every chance she gets. This time, a two-week hike in California. She's in heaven.
That's the thing about a dream, a longing. It penetrates your soul and prods you to make it happen.
I'm glad we don't all share the same dream so those trails and the countryside of France don't get too crowded.
What's your dream? What are you doing to make it happen?

Inspiration in a Letter

I got a note from my aunt.
I had sent Aunt Esther a copy of my latest book. She has read both of my previous books, and when we talked at the beginning of June, I realized that she hadn't read Trail Mix.

When I told her the book was about two women hiking the Appalachian Trail, her eyes got round behind her glasses.
"Oh, that's my thing!" she said.
So I sent her the book that week, and the following week, I got a note from her, along with a check to repay me for the book.
Aunt Esther will turn 90 this year. She is married to my mother's oldest brother, Uncle Junior, as we call him. Luther is what Aunt Esther calls him. Uncle Junior fought in World War II in Italy.
But it isn't their story of romance during wartime that inspired me in the note this weekend.
Here's what Aunt Esther wrote:
"I let time run out on my DREAM to hike the Trail."
She told me about the times she had walked on snippets of the trail, at the trail head in north Georgia, across the Blue Ridge Highway, at the top of Old Man Mountain in Vermont.
"Last we made it to the beginning of the end (or beginning of the Trail). We hiked to within an hour of the summit the Ranger told us. We came to a boulder too much for us to get over."
I felt Aunt Esther's pain of a dream that slipped away.
"But I have had several hikes on the Trail and wanted so much to do the ENTIRE HIKE."
Daggers, as she let go of her goal.
She told me she enjoyed going on the hike with the women in my book.
Then she shared another aspiration:
"My other dream was to walk the Grand Canyon. But the Old Mother Nature's Clock just went too fast."
Another reminder for me, and for everyone, that time is passing.
We can talk about someday forever, until someday is gone.
"Thank you for sharing a story that took me on my Dream Trip. I pray you will have many more travels to share"
And, there's no time like the present to get started on my dream.
The stars may be aligning to send us on that journey sooner than we'd planned.
Stay tuned!

Birthday Theme

The day after my birthday, I received two birthday cards in the mail from friends here in town.
There's a theme to the cards.
First this one from Deb. She knows me so well.

Yes, Paris. And, yes, my hair would have to be well-behaved, which it never is in France because I don't have a French-compatible  hairdryer or straightener.

The next card was from my running friend Noreen. You remember her. She had breast cancer a few years ago and ran our running group into the ground proving that she was healthier than us. And she is!
Here's the card she sent.

Inside it says, "Oh yeah, like if you had magic shoes, you'd go to Kansas." I thought that was hilarious.
I'm clicking my heels and feeling better today.
Then Tuesday evening, I heard the UPS truck pull up and slide a package across the porch. I wasn't expecting anything, but Earl went to retrieve it. A box of macarons from Pistacia Vera, a terrific bakery in German Village here in Columbus. My running friend Pam, who moved away, sent the macarons. There are flavors of pistachio, vanilla bean, lemon, strawberry, mocha... Too many to name.

This afternoon, I was kind of wallowing in my flu symptoms after I had to stop taking the Tamiflu because of a reaction. My face swelled and the skin around my eyes got pink, dry and itchy. As soon as I stopped taking the Tamiflu, my headache and coughing came back full force.
I had some errands to run that I couldn't get out of, and while thinking how bad I felt, a song came on that helped  me change my attitude.

I've made it my ringtone now.
I came home, did laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and cooked chicken breast which I made into a delicious chicken salad with sliced grapes and apples and served on croissants.
Now I'm going to have a glass of wine and relax, knowing I'll feel cheerier every time my phone rings.

Bed Bugs and Travel and Lazy Sundays

Today, my youngest son Tucker returned from a trip to New York. He went with the Singers from our town, which is the small high school choir that requires a tryout. They left Wednesday night and have been gallivanting around the Big Apple since then. The trip included two concerts they gave in cathedrals, a concert by the New York Pops in Carnegie Hall, and a ticket to The Phantom of the Opera.
I know, I must be living in the wrong time period, cause I didn't get to do things like that when I was in high school. The downside though was the warning email from the director who said one of the chaperones found a bedbug as she was packing to come home.

Here's Tucker during a cooking class in France.

That meant all the parents meeting the bus today had plastic garbage bags. We wrapped up the suitcases before bringing them home. Earl stood outside on the (luckily) nice day separating the clothes then transporting them to the hot water in the washer and an extra-long dry in the dryer to kill any bedbugs or eggs. The things that can't be washed, leather shoes, ties, suit jacket, went into the freezer. Hopefully, we'll elude the bedbug issue.
This afternoon, I made a Swiss cheese and sausage quiche. Dinners are tricky things at our house since Earl works in the evenings and Grace is at work then rehearsal til 4:30. I try to prepare a meal somewhere in the middle. I was listening to Rick Steves on my computer, picking out all the stories about France, so I finished off that bottle of red wine that Tucker brought us from France. It all put me in the perfect mood to take my computer, and the red wine, out to the front porch for some writing. I've written more than 30,000 words of my sequel to The Summer of France. This one has the working title of Autumn in Aix, and Grace says I'm not allowed to send an email to the Louvre asking them how they box up and move exhibits from the Louvre. She says that will get me on some sort of black list so I'll never be able to visit again.
And I'll add some music from Pandora, but first, I visited youtube for some Midnight in Paris music. This one seems appropriate. "Dream a Little Dream of Me."

 I'm dreaming big today, and it's not even Dreaming of France meme until tomorrow.
Hope your Sunday was equally dream filled.

Impending Troubles?

How do you respond to someone's prediction of doom?
I'm not really sure what to do with this. Maybe you can help.
Just this morning, I called Sheila, asking her to review how she handled her 20-year-old son's teenage years. Tucker seems angry whenever he's home. I want things to be better, but I end up getting angry back at him. Sheila and I talked for awhile but, as usual with parenting, we didn't come up with a solution. As I dropped Tucker at school this morning, the slam of the door resounded like an exclamation mark on our relationship.
I've been worried about Spencer the past few days too, since he came home at 9 p.m. Saturday. He hasn't hung out with his friends since then. He claims everything is fine, he's just decided to stay home more. That makes me nervous. He's the most social person I know. Is he fighting with his friends? Is he trying to avoid trouble?
So worry about my boys was nibbling at my brain when I got home and checked my email. One of my former students, Muhanned,a smart man who I trust and stay in contact with, sent me an email. Muhanned was born in Saudi Arabia, grew up in England and the U.S.
His email was titled "I had a dream." I figured he was sending me another video of his baby daughter. But not. He wrote about his dream that "some harm came to your son" and "you were offered $300 million in compensation." He woke up with a feeling of foreboding and wasn't able to shake the feeling for the past few days, so he emailed me.
I felt tears fill my eyes.
Should I go pull both boys out of school and keep them home -- forever -- to keep them safe?
I don't know whether Muhanned has prophetic dreams like his namesake, but the idea of something happening to either of my sons is frightening. And when I thought about it, I realized there is nothing I can do to protect them from the world.
Of course, I analyzed Muhanned's email. I wanted to shoot back questions: Which son? Have you had dreams come true before? Did something happen during the day that made you think of me, which could have spurred the dream and had nothing to do with my future?
And I looked at his carefully chosen words: "some harm." He didn't say "die" but why would I get compensation if said son was still alive? $300 million compensation meant some sort of accident and a big corporation responsible. I brooded on his words. I needed to make sure my boys were safe.
The thing is, there's nothing I can do to make sure my boys aren't involved in an accident if Muhanned's dream is correct or if it isn't. The only thing I can do is to make sure that the boys know how much I love them, to be certain our relationship is fine in case anything should ever happen to them or me -- whether it's related to Muhanned's dream or just to life.
So I asked Tucker to go to lunch, but he turned me down. He wouldn't mind if I gave him his weekly allowance though. So I dropped by the school. Tucker and his buddies filled the car and asked me to drop them at Qdoba. He leaned over and game me a kiss before he got out.
Then I saw Spencer walking with a few friends on their way to lunch on this beautiful, sun-drenched day.
Whatever the future holds, I hope we can all say we didn't waste our time together fighting or complaining.
And I'm thankful to Muhanned's dream for forcing me to go make peace with Tucker and take a few minutes out of my day to remember how much I love my kids.

Dream World

Does real life ever infiltrate your dreams?
That happened to me last night.
My husband came home some time in the middle of the night after working until 1 a.m. He unloaded the dishwasher and made the boys' lunches. Then he knocked into the office chair as he came into the bedroom with some folded laundry. (I know, overachiever.)
I woke up and thought how thirsty I was. But I was too tired to get up and get a drink of water. I could have asked Earl to get it, but he had already done so much.
He also fed the cats (at 3 in the morning?) but maybe that would keep them from bugging us in the morning. He climbed into bed and a few minutes later I heard the older cat throwing up.
"He's throwing up," I said and pushed the covers back.
"I'll get it,"my prince of an Earl said. And he did. He cleaned it up and talked to the cat for a few minutes before coming back to bed.
Then I slept. In my dream, we were visiting someone else's house, someone with a lot of cats. I went to open the front door and cats were coming in and going out.
My cat, Tybalt, was there.

Why would we take our cats to visit someone?
Tybalt is an indoor cat but he snuck out so I had to grab him and bring him back in.
Then I opened the door again to let more cats in and Tybalt jumped and hit the other cat in midair. Wham! The impact took them several feet out into the yard. They wrestled together in the snow. It was like a cartoon cat fight!
The next thing I knew, I was standing in the kitchen of this strange house drinking water from a big plastic pitcher. That's how my thirst infiltrated my dreams -- a pitcherful of water.
Then my alarm sounded at 5:10 a.m. and I pressed it off. I needed to get up and write and exercise. I have to work today at 9.
The next thing I heard was Tucker's alarm going off. 7 a.m.
So much for good intentions.

Dreamboard

Yesterday I went to the store looking for a dress shirt that Tucker can wear to homecoming. I didn't find the shirt he wanted, but I did find a new sweater that goes perfectly with a skirt I own.
When I got home, I held the sweater up to the skirt and was thrilled that it matched so well. Something about the sweater kept nagging at me and that's when I looked at my dreamboard and realized it was very similar to a sweater from J.Jill that I had cut out and put on the dreamboard.

Do I think this was a coincidence? No, obviously I've looked at that sweater every day since last spring when I placed the picture there.
So I had two realizations, one the dreamboard is more like a goal board. I put the things up that I want to accomplish and I try to accomplish them. A few things on the dreamboard are things I can buy, like the sweater. There's also a pair of sandals there and Rosetta Stone, which I haven't bought.
The other thing I realized about my dreamboard is that I've accomplished some of the things on there. I've made my dreams come true. I have a pair of boarding passes for our tickets to France from seven years ago because I hoped for a trip to France. I got that trip to France in April.
I also have an inspirational saying to help me finish my book. And I did.
What I haven't accomplished yet is having a book published. I have a mock up cover for a book on my dream board.
Some things on the board seem out of reach, which makes them more like dreams than goals, like houses in Provence that I would like to own. So those will stay on the dreamboard, but I'm taking down the sweater.
I've got a primo spot on my dreamboard.
What would you put in the middle of your dream board?

Dreams

I'm antsy this morning. My to-do list running through my head. The college's website that lets me grade paper not working from 5 to 7 a.m. The minutes tick by so quickly now when I need them to slow down.
I made myself go to the Y to burn off some energy.
There, I ran into the white-bearded man who first explained how to use the treadmill for interval training. He came and stood by my treadmill today, wishing me a good trip and filling me in on the latest news about flights to Paris.
"My understanding is that ticketed passengers have priority. Those who missed their flights have to wait." He's one of the guys who seems to be an expert on every subject, but in a sweet way not an obnoxious one.
I suggested that my trip to Paris might inspire him to travel some.
"No," he replied.
His wife wants to go to the Caribbean or Florida. He wants to go to the mountains and hike.
"So go," I told him.
He claims he knows no one who would go hiking with him.
"I'll just walk on my treadmill alone," he said.
He's in his 60s and in decent shape, judging from the amount of running and weight lifting that he's doing at the Y everyday. So why has he given up on travel? Why is he condemning himself to a lifetime of watching himself in the mirrors in front of the treadmill rather than mountain peaks and blossoming leaves?
My darling, handsome husband is in his 50s now, and I can't imagine that 10 years from now: A) he'll have a white beard down to his chest or B)he'll be content to walk on a treadmill that doesn't go anywhere.
I expect that 10 years from now, hopefully, with all three children through college, we'll be travelling more than ever.
I'll need to keep watch on the pilot light of our dreams and fan it to make sure it stays alive well into our 70s or 80s.

Have Purse, Will Travel

Here's a picture of my new purse which I will be carrying in Paris this spring because we just bought our airline tickets! Yea!
I thought it wasn't going to happen. We went back and forth. Too expensive. Daughter going to college in the fall. Our 20th anniversary.
Finally, we found a good deal on airfare, $605 each round trip. And last night, I found this sweet little purse. It says spring. It says travel. It says. I'm going!

New Dreams

Yesterday, a dream came true. It wasn't a longterm dream. It's just begun in the past year or so and started as a threat to my hard-headed 13-year-old. Tucker is my youngest of three children and he can fight with me from sun up to sun down. I have firmly entered the world of parents who don't have a clue, according to him.
I'm not sure why I was surprised that he is such a difficult teenager. When I was in labor with Tucker, the nurse midwife came in the room to see how much I was dilated. As she checked, down there beneath the sheet, a puzzled look crossed her face.
"I've never seen this before," she said.
"What?" Earl and I both asked worried for our unborn child.
"The baby is shaking his head like he's saying no."
We laughed. That was funny. But it was only a harbinger of things to come.
I remember now that I told people, "I never knew what people meant by 'the terrible twos' until I had Tucker." And that was true. I was bribing him with Menthos to follow my directions. He was stubborn and determined. I reassured myself that he would make a great grown up. He would never be a follower.
And this year, he turned 13. How can I possibly have been surprised that he argues with me constantly? The arguments are always stupid.
Put away your dishes. Pick up your clothes. Eat something healthy. He listens, and he may comply, but not when I ask him. I know enough to walk away and hope he follows through.
Earl is still hoping for immediate compliance. That is not going to happen because then it would look like Tucker was actually doing what we want. He's not willing to give that much.
It's not all bad, of course. Sometimes it reminds so much of his two-year-old self, you know the times when they run ahead, but they keep looking back to make sure Mom is still there following. They want to be independent, but they want to be sure someone is there to keep them safe.
And sometimes, in the middle of the night, I'll hear his voice: "I have a stomachache" or "I have a headache" he'll say as he slides into bed next to us. The stomachache and headache are probably just excuses. He needs to know that he can climb into bed with us and get a hug or some concern. He still needs us.
When Tucker is rude or flip, I take away his phone or I take away his iPod. Removing the phone is like grounding him because he can't communicate to make plans with his friends.
The past few months, I've begun to threaten boarding school. I mutter to my friends that the British have it right, sending their 11-year-olds off to boarding school until they become bearable again.
Then Friday my dream came true. A letter arrived for Tucker that said "Admissions Office" on the return address. A recruiting letter from a high school boarding school that has an elite swim team. They want Tucker! I was doing a little happy dance.
He actually was pleased to receive it. He can brag about it to his friends that the school is recruiting him because of his great swim times.
We don't plan to ship him off, but it's nice to know there's a back-up plan, just in case taking away the iPod and phone stops working.