Dreams, Nightmares and Characters

Photo: lcarissimi via Pixabay

On Monday, I wrote about my weird dreams, so today, it seems only logical to share my characters' dreams. 

So, without further ado, here are my characters' wildest dreams, fondest wishes and/or fearsome nightmares.

Marita wishes for a happy, healthy future for Charli. "I want her to be well-adjusted and not damaged by all of the craziness around her." And for herself? "A life like Angel's -- husband, home and family -- only with someone a lot better than Jim."

Angel feels as though she's living her dream, but "wishes that Jim and my father would find away to enjoy each other's company."

Charli dreams of growing up and traveling to other countries. "It's not that I don't love my family. I just wonder what life is like in other places."

Bets dreams of being discovered and winning an Oscar. "My gown would be fabulous and I'd thank Trevor and Ri-Ri -- who'd be sitting in the front row because I'm that important -- and at the after parties, directors would slip their business cards into my hand." Her nightmare? "Ri-Ri married to Jim and transformed into a church lady like her mother."

Anna dreams of starring in her own music video by the time she's twenty-five. "Then I'll still have time to get married and have a family."

And Jim? He wants Spencer and Angel to have all they've ever wanted, and for Spencer's life "just to be normal. No fighting parents, no running from house to house. Just a God-fearing, comfortable upbringing, like the one my father created for my mother, my sisters and me."

What do you think? Should they be careful what they wish for?

Late to Bed, Late to Rise

Not my room :-)
Photo from thecompanystore.com

Saturday mornings are my reset button. After a week of too-late nights and too-early mornings, I revel in the opportunity to curl up under the blankets and wake slowly. Wrapped as much in the lovely, fulfilling stillness of a quiet house full of family as the warmth of my bed, I take my time, only reluctantly exiting my cocoon for the cold reality of the real world. Some linger over coffee at the breakfast table; I linger over dreams and under covers, alternating between sneaking in a few more minutes of sleep and considering the possible items on my to-do list for the day. 

Once it’s evident that further sleep is elusive, I throw back the covers and step into the day. By then, I’ve inevitably sketched out a to-do list and formulated the day’s agenda, one that’s flexible enough for the inevitable weekend interruptions. This process, a guilty pleasure that I rationalize by telling myself that I can’t be productive without sufficient rest, is a regular part of my weekend routine. 

In the early years of our marriage, my husband, (an inveterate early riser), would wake me, concerned that I was missing out on the best part of the day. It took some convincing, but he now knows that we define the best part of the day quite differently, and that I don’t feel that I’m missing anything at all. 

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This past weekend was an embarrassment of riches -- two days in a row to start the day slowly, easing out from under the covers and into responsibility. In addition, since it was our choir’s week off, I had plenty of time to putter, something that rarely makes the list during non-summer weekdays.

As my body adjusts to the time change (a process that becomes more challenging with each passing year), I’ll be counting the days until the next luxurious Saturday morning. And if the winds of fall keep blowing, I may be on the lookout for some blankets to curl up under in the meantime.