Dreams

I have always been a dreamer. My earliest memories of dreams were of bad dreams that the house was burning down, or there were ghosts in my room. One night I remember dreaming that I was looking for a shirt in my drawer, and the next morning I woke up with my pajamas on the floor and wearing that shirt (inside out). Another nightmare that I had was a recurring one. I dreamed that there was nothing but “TV snow” all around me and there was a huge box in the middle of the room full of socks that I had to mate. I would wake up in a cold sweat and sometimes crying. My mother would come into my room and ask if I’d had the sock dream again. Many years later, that dream came true when I had four children and one husband who were active in sports and wore two or three pairs of socks every day. When I would do the laundry, there were more than a hundred socks to mate every week.

I have also had a few dreams that I would consider “significant” dreams. These have been dreams that were much more vivid, and made sense.

I believe that when we are given dreams that help us solve a problem or give us comfort or information that we would not have been able to obtain while awake, it is a way that our Heavenly Father communicates with us. When we are asleep, our spirits are more susceptible to the whisperings of the spirit because we are relaxed and able to hear what our minds are too busy to hear when we are awake. I have had several dreams like this that were very personal.

One of these dreams had to do with a friend who was suffering a great deal with health issues. I dreamed that I was hiking up a huge mountain with her, and when we got to the top there were lots of people who were taking cover in their homes from a storm that was coming. They literally all ran inside and shut the door. My friend and I were standing outside watching the storm come. I knew it was going to be a very difficult storm, and that we would have to be outside in it until it was over. The two of us turned to face the black clouds together and I knew it was going to be bad, but that together we would survive. However, I did not want to be out in the storm, I just knew that I would have to do it. I awoke, knowing that the situation with my friend would be difficult, and that I would have to stand by her until it was over, but that that was what my Father in heaven required of me. The dream was pure revelation as the situation evolved exactly as I knew it would, and we weathered the storm together.

One of my favorite dreams was one I had when I was a child. I dreamed that I got married to a man named Brian Peterson, and as I walked out of the church with my new husband, I was embarrassed that our “get-away” car was a huge RED truck. I remembered this dream vividly all through my growing up years, but I forgot what the first name of the man was. I knew it was the same name as one of my cousins: either Brian or Mark. Since Mark was my favorite, I decided that the name must have been Mark. When I was in high school, the MTC used to allow people to go to the front desk and look at the names of the missionaries who were in the MTC. I would go there with my friends, and pick out all the Mark Peterson’s and start to write to them. I didn’t really believe that I would marry this person from my dream, but it was a fun game when I was a teenager. The game wore off, and I forgot all about the dream when I was in college. I met Brian and we started dating. Less than two weeks into our relationship, he was asking me if I thought he was marriage material. I was shocked that he would be bold enough to bring up marriage so early on. The very next day was Sunday and as I was walking out of the church meeting, I saw Brian Peterson come around the corner in a very large Brown truck with bull horns strapped to the front. As soon as I saw him, I lost my breath, because I knew that he was the person in my dream and that even though his truck was brown, it was indeed embarrassing. Later, that truck was the catalyst for our engagement. It was stolen and Brian was so upset that he wanted to move back to California. He didn’t want to leave me, though, so he asked me to marry him so he could leave Utah for good. His grandmother told me that the reason the truck was red in my dream was that it symbolized “true love”.

I appreciate the power that dreams have. I have drawn comfort, humor, revelation, and answers from my dreams. Dreams can reveal things about you and your desires and they can help you understand others better. I pity the person who rarely dreams.

A Run-in With The Law

I have heard that there is a huge cultural difference between California and New York. My first visit to New York proved that statement was true. I visited New York City in the spring of 2003 with the high school choir with whom I worked as an accompanist. They were touring New York and competing in a choral festival there. Some of the fun things we did there included shopping in SoHo and riding the subway.
My first experience on the subway was my introduction to New York hospitality. There were kiosks in the waiting area that dispensed subway tickets in packages of ten. Because each chaperone had charge of eight students, we thought it best to buy several packages and give everyone a ticket. As the first group moved through the turn style, the automatic ticket taker refused to take any more tickets after the first four. We soon discovered that the tickets were meant for one person to use ten times and not for ten people to use once. We had already purchased about eighty tickets so we decided to let the kids go through the turn style two or three at a time (which we could accomplish by having them walk very close together.) This seemed to work for the group and the majority of them went through and got on the subway.
I was in the last group and somehow, when it came my turn, I couldn’t squeeze in with the girls in front of me. Instead, I simply climbed over the bar. There were eight of us all together, and we walked toward the subway to take our short ride to SoHo when suddenly two police officers blocked our path. There was another person with them who pointed at me and several of the girls in my group and said,
“They are the ones! That one climbed over, and those ones squeezed through three at a time!”
The police officer said,
“It is against the law to jump the turn style, lady. We will have to take you down to the station.”
I was mortified!
“But officer,” I said, “we bought tickets for our whole group and the machine quit taking our tickets after the first few.”
“That is not my problem, lady. If you have a problem with the tickets, you have to talk to the cashier.”
I was beside myself. I looked at the officer and said,
“Please, sir. I am chaperoning these students and we are visiting from California. I didn’t know we were doing anything wrong.”
“This isn’t Disneyland, lady!” He barked. “I can take them all in too. The fine is $60 and a night in the county jail!”
One of the girls gasped, and another one started to cry.
“Could you give us a break, officer? We did pay for our passage, and they are just children.”
The officer pointed at me and said,
“They are not considered children in New York if they are over 14 years of age. They can still spend a night in jail.”
I was shaking from head to toe, and genuinely frightened of the prospect of going to jail. How would I explain to their parents that I was the reason their children were in jail?
The police officer seemed to realize that he had tortured me enough. He folded his arms across his chest, and looked at me sternly.
“This is New York City, and we have very strict laws regarding our subways. I don’t want to see you riding this subway again, is that clear?”
I nodded quickly and he responded,
“Now get out of here, before I change my mind.”
The girls and I couldn’t move fast enough. We jumped on the subway and were whisked away to SoHo. We huddled together for a few moments trying to calm our nerves.
When we arrived at our destination, I felt a great sense of relief. Little did I know, that I was about to experience New York City’s hospitality again. Many of the girls in the group were thrilled with the purses they could buy on the street in New York. I also found one I liked in the Louis Vitton store window, but it was four-hundred and fifty dollars. On the streets of SoHo there were venders with purses looking like the one I wanted, but not quite the same. I asked one of them how much they were. He told me that the purse was ten dollars.
I said, “I wish it was a Louis Vitton, I really like the real one better.”
The vendor looked around as if to make sure no one was watching. Then he said, “I have it. Forty-five dollars.
I bargained him down to thirty-two and he went to a windowless van that was parked nearby. When he emerged, he had a brown paper bag in his hand. Again, he looked around suspiciously, then put the brown package in my hand.
“Gimme the money, he said urgently, and don’t open it until you are at least a block away.”
I felt like I was buying drugs on the street. I began to walk away, and noticed that a uniformed policeman was watching me. He began to follow me. I slipped the bag inside my coat and made a beeline for the nearest restaurant. I slipped inside, and the policeman walked past. By this time, I had had enough of New York City streets. I brought the purse home, but only used it once. To this day, I can’t look at it without getting butterflies in my stomach and thinking of the time I almost got arrested, twice.

Sapphire Surprise

Our son, Daniel, has had an anxiety disorder since he was a tiny child. As he grew up, we began to worry about him because of his reactions when we would leave. At one time, I was unable to go to the grocery store for an hour without him calling me to see how much longer before I would be home. He was eleven years old, and afraid of being left alone for any period of time.

Brian and I prayed about Daniel a lot and what we should do to help him. We had considered counseling for him, but just didn’t feel it was quite the answer he needed. In what we thought was a separate issue, we discussed getting a dog for the kids, but I didn’t want to deal with cleaning up after, and feeding a pet. One day, I realized that the idea of getting a dog was an inspiration from above and possibly an answer to our prayers for Daniel. It was November of 2003, so we decided that we would surprise Danny with a dog for Christmas.

I researched the different breeds, and decided that I would be happiest with a small dog, that was still rough and tumble enough for an eleven year old boy. I chose a beagle. It took a few weeks to locate a breeder who would have beagle puppies ready for Christmas, but I found one out in Victorville who had two litters that would be ready around the first week of December. The breeder called me and set up the appointment for a Sunday around 11:30. He was not flexible at all with his date and time. Apparently, all the interested buyers were contacted to come pick out their puppy on the same afternoon. So, Brian and I decided to tell Daniel that he would have to leave church early with mom for a surprise.

I gave Daniel two hints on the way to Victorville: Tall and not Blue. He had no idea what I was talking about. He didn’t know we had even considered a dog, and furthermore, he had never heard of a blue dog. I had looked at a lot of pictures of beagles and I didn’t like the looks of the blue tick beagles, and Brian didn’t want a squatty looking dog. We arrived at the breeders house, which looked like any other house on the block. Danny was still completely clueless as to why we had driven all the way out to Victorville to someone’s house.

As soon as we walked in the door, we saw at least ten puppies in a doggie playpen. The look on Danny’s face was priceless. He was completely shocked and at the same time, thrilled. He played with all the puppies and watched each of them carefully. There were two short blue beagles who were sisters and one was a little bigger than the other. The larger one was playing too rough with the smaller one. Danny’s protective instincts kicked in, and he reached in to rescue the smaller dog. It must have been love at first sight, because he insisted that she was the dog he wanted. I was sure he would want a male dog, and that dog was not only female, but short and blue. But, it was Danny’s surprise, and I wanted him to be happy. We brought the puppy home and named her Sapphire after her bluish color.

The biggest surprise was not the one that Danny had, however. It was the one that I had. I fully expected to be annoyed by the dog and hoped she would live in the backyard and stay out of my way. Instead, I found myself holding her all night so that she wouldn’t cry, and coddling her like she was my own child. I have found that she was as much an answer to our prayers about Danny, as to my personal prayers about filling a void in my life.

Today, I absolutely adore that little chubby dog. She is truly man’s best friend. She is the most cuddly and sweet natured animal I’ve ever known. Sometimes I like her more than my own children. She never talks back, she doesn’t even bark. She is obedient, and she loves me unconditionally. I am completely taken by surprise that I enjoy her as much as I do.

Practical Jokes

My dad has always loved his Jacuzzi. Every morning, rain, snow or shine, he spends an hour soaking in his hot tub. One cold morning in March, my dad was taking his usual soak. Because the Jacuzzi was on a deck surrounded by a privacy fence, he never bothered to wear a bathing suit. On this particular morning, my mother got up and went to work as usual, locking all the doors as she left. She was completely unaware that she had locked my dad out of the house in his birthday suit in sub-zero weather. Soon after she left, he tired of his soak and decided to go back inside. He didn’t even have a towel, because the deck was attached to the house. He realized what had happened, and climbed back into the hot tub to contemplate how he was going to get back inside. It was around eight o’clock in the morning and my parents house was across the street from an elementary school, and of course, the children were arriving at that very moment. The only way my dad could figure a way into the house was to walk around the front of the house to the garage where there was a keypad to open the garage door. He looked around for something to cover up with and found a frozen rug by the back door. It was almost large enough to go around him. He waited until he heard the school bell ring and then decided to make a run for it. He safely made it around to the front of the house, and in through the garage door, shivering from head to toe.
Of course, he was a little upset at my mother for locking him out, so when he got inside he called her on the phone to tell her what she had done. He thought it made him feel better to get it off his chest. After he hung up the phone, my mother had a good laugh, then decided to play a practical joke on him. A few hours later, she had one of the men from her office call their house. My dad had left the house by then, so he left a message on the answering machine saying that he was an officer from the Spanish Fork Police department and there had been a report from the elementary school’s principle that there was a flasher running around near the school. He said that the police would like to talk to him, and wanted him to call back. Then he left the phone number of my mother’s office.
When my dad returned home and listened to the message he was so shaken up that he didn’t even realize that the number was my mother’s office. He called the number and when my mother answered he was still so shaken that he didn’t recognize her voice and explained who he was and that he was wanted for questioning. Of course, my mother busted up laughing and it was still a few moments before my dad realized what had happened.
At this point, my mother just had to share the joke with someone, so she called my youngest sister, Stacy, and told her what had happened. Stacy thought it would be funny to continue the joke, so she called my dad and told him that our cousin, Joni, who is an elementary teacher in a neighboring town, had called her. She said Joni had heard that there was a flasher at the elementary school in Spanish Fork and the school was on lock down, and did he know anything about it? My dad is very good natured, and just laughed along with her. But that wasn’t enough for Stacy. She called my oldest sister, Leslie, and told her everything that had happened.
That evening, Leslie called my dad. She said that she was driving home from work and she heard on the radio that the school across the street from my parents house was in a hostage situation because of a flasher. She said she was worried because they were so close to the school, and wanted to know what was happening.
This all transpired while I was out of town for a few days, and when I returned home, my sisters both called me to tell me all about it. I decided there was still some mileage to be had from my dad’s experience, so I e-mailed him a note that said I had been driving in downtown L.A. when I saw a billboard advertising the evening news. The billboard said “Naked man wrapped in a rug caught terrorizing elementary school children in Spanish Fork, Utah. Watch the eight o’clock news for complete coverage”.

This was the final straw for my poor father. He e-mailed me back a note saying, “I am sub-humanus primo uno! Will the pain never end? Well, that was the end of his pain. We dropped it after that but many glorious moments have been shared between my sisters, my mother and I in reliving one of the most successful practical jokes we had ever experienced.

The Bully

During the Fall my fourth grade year, I began to gain a consciousness of myself. I was quite a bit taller than anyone else in my school except for one or two boys. That probably wouldn’t have been a problem if I had been a boy. But the other kids noticed there was something different about me. I was not only very tall, but I was extremely skinny as well. I became the object of nick names such as “Mama Long Legs,” and “Spider Legs,” which added to my self-consciousness. I could count on the jibes about my appearance every day, but one thing I didn’t count on, was becoming the focus of the class bully. Her name was Janalee.
Janalee was very short and petite. She could also be described as a snob, although I believe the word I used when I told my mother about her was “stuck-up-snot.”
“Why are you so tall, Spider Legs? You look like a giraffe in those stupid brown pants!” She said to me one day. It was just another poke at my appearance, but she always managed to make me feel awkward and much smaller than my height seemed to convey. It seemed that her biggest problem with me, was that I was a poor country girl. She regularly made remarks about my clothing, or my hair followed by an explanation that it was my country upbringing, and not really my fault. Of course, her false sympathy only deepened my lack of self-esteem.
My mother listened to my complaints sympathetically, then gave me some advice that I have never forgotten. She told me that I should go out of my way to do something nice for her if I wanted her to be my friend. I didn’t want her friendship as much as I just wanted her to leave me alone, but I took the advice. It was near Christmas, and I was making handmade jewelry for all my friends. The jewelry was about as country-bumpkin as you could get. I had found some small pieces of wood, and wire in the garage. I twisted the wire into a chain, and painted my friends names on the wood, then attached it to the chain. I knew that the jewelry looked very hand-made, but I figured my friends would like it anyway because I had made it for them. The last necklace that I made had the name Janalee on it. I wrapped it in Christmas paper, then I took it to school and during recess, placed it in Janalee’s desk.
All morning, I was nervous about her reaction. Would the teasing and bullying get worse? At Lunch recess, Janalee found me and asked me why I had given her a Christmas present. I answered her that I had made them for all my friends. She looked at me dumbfounded, and for once she was speechless. She turned and walked away without another word.
The rest of the school year, Janalee paid very little attention to me. She was neither mean nor kind. She simply ignored me. I, of course, was very happy with the situation. I didn’t like her and I was relieved that she no longer found me interesting.
Over the next few years, I occasionally had classes with Janalee. More than once, she mentioned that I had given her a present when we were in fourth grade. She never mentioned it’s remarkably homespun qualities, but I still had the feeling she thought I was well below her class. By this time, however, I realized that she thought everyone was beneath her. She was plain and simply a snob, and well known for it.
One afternoon, when I was sixteen or seventeen, Janalee showed up on my front doorstep. “Hey what are you doing this afternoon?” She asked. I didn’t quite know what to say.
We had never been friends, and she had never spoken kindly to me. I wondered if she was laying a trap for me. “Lets go to Glades for ice cream,” She said. So I went with her. It turned out that she was alone for the weekend. She was an only child, and her parents had gone to visit relatives out of town. I spent the day with Janalee, swimming in the Spanish Fork River and sliding down the bank in the mud. I couldn’t believe that she got so dirty. We actually had fun together.
The last two years of high school, Janalee was on the tennis team with me. I wouldn’t say we ever “hung out” again, but we were amiable acquaintances. I have often thought of my little act of friendship all those years ago and the result that was so long in coming. It took six or seven years for the hostility to turn to tolerance and then to some small form of friendship. The lesson learned has been a valuable one. I have used my mother’s advice every time I have found myself in a social position that was not to my advantage. It has not always worked, but it has made me a better person. I have learned not to allow a bully to make me feel inadequate and small, but to be a bigger person and show them kindness. The affect has been to boost my self-awareness and self-confidence, and see the bully for what they really are; inconsequential.

Young Love

From the balcony next to my bedroom, I have a beautiful view of the wide ravine behind my house. There is a small stream at the bottom of it and one end of the ravine opens up into a state park. Many wild animals enjoy the park and use the stream as a watering hole. Last year a den of coyotes moved in just a few hundred yards from my home.

As the pups from this den began to mature one of them seemed to make friends with the dogs in the surrounding yards. My beagle, Sapphire, was one of them. Every evening the coyote pup would begin its call; “Yip! Yip! Yaooooo!” Whatever Sapphire was doing, she would drop and bolt behind the couch and out her pet-door to the back fence to answer the call with her own hounds howl. The two canines would exchange howls for twenty minutes or so every night. Then, abruptly, the noise would stop, and Sapphire would come back in the house and curl up on the couch. Most of the Spring and Summer evenings were spent the same way, with the two conversing every evening.

Sometime in the early Fall, the young coyote’s visits with Sapphire became fewer and further between. She took to patrolling the fence in the evenings, occasionally being rewarded by the familiar Yip! Yi’! Yaooooo, and the ensuing conversation. But almost always, late at night, we would hear the raucous howling of a large pack. Sapphire, of course, would join in from her place behind the fence, but she wasn’t ever really included. The young coyote had a new group of friends and he was free to roam the wilds with them, pillaging and plundering the local rabbit burrows. Before long, the early evening conversations stopped all together, and only the sounds of the pack could be heard from far away.

One morning, Sapphire and I went out for a walk. I decided to take her through the ravine so she could enjoy sniffing around for small critters. Suddenly, we stood face to face with a young coyote. He slowly backed away, then gave a quick “Yip! Yip! Yahoooo!” and turned and ran up the trail. Sapphire didn’t respond at all. She simply stared after him for a few moments, then turned and walked deliberately in the other direction.

Fear

I recently started going to a writing club. Yes, a bunch of middle aged women get together once a month and draw a topic out of a hat. Then we write a short story about that topic. The story should be an experience from our past so that eventually we will have a collection of stories to pass on to our posterity. I'm not sure if any of my posterity would be interested, but I have enjoyed the group, and listening to their stories. The first topic I wrote on was fear.


This is going to be a piece of cake, I thought, as I stood at the bottom of the pyramid of Kulkulkan, in Chichen Itza staring up at the 91 steps to the top. I had been working out on the stair climber at the gym for many years and I could climb more than 200 flights without a second thought. I was thrilled that I would be able to climb this building without even breaking a sweat.
Kulkulkan is a restored temple ruin in the lost city of Chichen Itza in the Yukatan peninsula. It is in one of the largest ruined cities in Mexico and boasts many buildings that have been restored or partially restored. Two sides of the pyramid shaped building are still in the state they were found in, and the other two sides have been restored. One side has a large thick rope running from the top to the bottom to assist people who are climbing down. Our guide explained that we could ascend the building on the side without the rope, and descend on the rope side.
I turned to my husband, Brian, and said,
“I’ll climb about half-way up and then turn around. You can record it on the video camera. Then follow me up.”
I was eager to start up the steep stairs and prove to myself once again that I was in great shape. I climbed, counting each step as I went. When I reached fifty, I wasn’t even breathing hard, and I wasn’t ready to look back yet, so I decided to keep going until I reached seventy steps.
I realized I was about two-thirds of the way up by then. I was feeling pretty accomplished. I knew I was strong and that, although the steps up the building were steep and narrow, I would easily reach the top without having to catch my breath or wipe sweat from my forehead.
I turned around to wave to Brian and the video camera. But I was completely unprepared for the shock of what happened next. As I turned around, my eyes glanced down, and down, and down! Fear gripped my heart in a way that had me reeling back against the cold stone stairs. Until that very moment, I had not once considered that I had a fear of heights. The angle of the building was a shockingly steep forty-five degrees. It was similar to the angle of a ladder placed at the side of a house. The seventy or so steps that I had climbed were each about eighteen inches high, so I stood more than one hundred feet above the ground.
I molded my body back against the stairs as tightly as I could. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would burst at any moment. I was shaking from head to toe and fighting very hard to keep from sobbing. I was absolutely stuck. I knew I had only two choices. I could either climb back down, or go up to the top. At that moment, I heard another woman’s sobs to my right. She was sitting on a stair a few feet higher than I was and a man was speaking to her soothingly. She edged her feet down to the next stair, then slid her bottom over the edge and carefully lowered herself down another stair. As she reached the next stair down, her voice erupted into another stream of sobs as she clutched desperately to the man next to her.
I could see myself climbing down the same way with one exception. The man that she was clutching so desperately to was not anchored to the wall in any way. How easy would it be for him to slip and take them both down to the bottom in a matter of seconds? I made my decision then to finish climbing to the top, knowing that there was a rope to hold onto on the other side that would assist me in getting back down.
I carefully turned my body back toward the pyramid and finished climbing the last twenty steps. There was a building on the top, and I hastily pressed my back into the corner of the doorway where I allowed the convulsions to take over as I cried. I was still in a predicament. Although out of immediate danger, I knew I still had to climb down. I was alone at the top, and I knew I couldn’t stay there. I bravely looked over the edge, without moving any closer to it and a new wave of nausea and fear overcame me. I could see Brian coming up the stairs, but I was ashamed of the feelings that I couldn’t seem to control. By this time, my breathing was very heavy, and I was sweating profusely. I had wanted so badly to show off the fruits of my labors at the gym, and now my body was betraying me. I decided to sit down where I couldn’t see the steep decline of the building and try to get a hold of myself. I managed to get my breathing under control, but just as I was beginning to calm down, my husband made it to the top and a fresh wave of sobs washed over me.
We stayed on the top of the building for about thirty minutes. I knew I had to get myself back down, and I dreaded the moment I had to step over the edge of the first step. The thick rope was anchored into the first step, so I could not hold on to anything until I was a few steps down. Just like the woman I saw on my way up, I clung desperately to my husband’s body while I eased myself over the first step. As soon as I could get up my nerve, I let go of him, and grasped the thick rope to my left. I remember each step was as bad as the one before, and to add insult to injury, my husband stepped down the building as if he were walking down a flight of stairs. I have never been so relieved to reach solid ground as I was on this day, and I have not felt such terror on any other occasion in my life.