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February, 2016
2 13 19 21I had one of those floating or flying dreams and was enjoying the sensation at times of soaring or floating freely, trying to show others the sheer joy of it, and my (natural genius) nephew, Jim, said in front of others (instead of putting myself down) that I ought to acknowledge my natural genius. And for a moment I was so glad he saw that in me that the joy was almost too great to hold inside (and I woke up).
2/13/16 - Title: "A New Home (Place)"
My mom, her mom, and I are in her mom's (my maternal grandmother's) place. Some significant event has occurred or is just about to. This is all up in (or close to) New England (though in reality none of the three of us ever lived in New England, and Mom plus her mom were/are from Waco, TX).
Because of the big change (that has occurred or is about to), it will be more practical to move up here (apparently from TX). I ask my grandmother, Mama Paula, how much she pays in rent, and she says $1900 (a month, I assume). This is a big old one-story house, still very spacious and comfortable, and it would make a nice place to live if we (Mom and I) move up here. I suggest to Mom that we apply to the landlord to also pay $1900, and if this is accepted we'd move up here and into this place. She agrees.
I think I might have to get some kind of work, maybe as a waiter. We have been talking in the evening about this in a public area, like maybe a restaurant, and one of the male owners or managers says it won't be easy to get work here, nor to do the work if I get it. Another man chimes in that this is true. I remember I'm living off retirement checks and proceeds from a nest egg and realize the best thing would be if I keep expenses low and investment returns high, thus not having to go back to work.
There is an impression that someone may have died or been about to. Also that my wife, Frances, might come with me (and Mom?) if we move up here. I don't know if Fran will want to do this.
Mama Paula shows me a suitcase. Inside is a spiral notebook in which she keeps a few notes on her finances, statements of her wishes (like a will), and such, just written there longhand with a pen on one or a couple notebook pages. The pages are on the left side and at the beginning of the notebook. I plan to study this writing more carefully later.
Back at the rental house (where Mama Paula had been), it is as though we now are living here or soon will be. Frances and I are here plus our dog, Puff. We may be trying to sell this place or just about to move in, unclear.
A young family (a couple with a couple kids, I think) comes by and tries to get into a screened-in covered porch entrance to check our place out, evidently thinking the house is vacant and wanting to see if they'd like to live here and buy or rent it. Fran and I go and seek to dissuade them.
Fran goes out there first while I stay back, trying to get control of Puff. The dog quickly heads off to the left and through a sort of open slot or window close to floor level and so goes into the screened in porch area, stirring things up there (among Fran and the others) with her energy and playfulness, but I am going in there to get her and bring her back.
There's some notion that it would be good to sell the place, maybe to this young family, or at least that their interest in it is a good sign, that maybe a little later there'll be plenty of demand, so we can easily rent or sell the place to others (and move out again).
2/19/16 - Title: "Intruder Alert"
It is light outside, but there is a loud, unusual sound. I go outside from our back door, and Puff goes with me. I hear an unexpected noise, look over toward it, and realize that some illegal tobacco or cigarette traders or smugglers are over there seeing about some of their product that has gotten into our yard. These people are dangerous, and they are near the privacy fence but on our side of it. I realize they may try to protect themselves from being identified or caught by shooting and killing me. I am in great fear both for myself and Puff who is still there with me. At any moment she could try to fend off these intruders or might simply be in the line of fire if they begin firing in my direction. I try to get us both back into the house, through the back door, but, not understanding the danger, Puff is hesitating, starting to wander off instead of going back in. I try to yell for her, but the words won't come. Death for both of us seems imminent (when I wake up).
2/21/16 - Title: "The Survivor"
I am the main parental figure looking after a little Black girl. She is now maybe 3-5 years old. She has gone through much trauma and nearly died, but is hanging in there and doing alright now. I care for her very much.
[Per my friend Janet, this likely has to do with transformation and creativity plus shadow feelings that are being taken care of now.]