December 23rd, 2006

Whale fluke

"It's snow...snow in the same sector!"

Part of our family's been snowed. Literally.

Our cousins the Paulsens in White Salmon, Washington woke up this morning to eight inches of snow on their hill above the Columbia River Gorge, so Aunt Pat called my mom (her sister) to convey that news. So we're not going up there yet. Maybe we'll do it later today, after a warm front moves through; maybe we'll go tomorrow. "Well, you have snow, you'd better go play in it!" Mom told Aunt Pat.

The Paulsens have a full house: Aunt Pat and Uncle Bill live there with their dog Norm, and both of their kids are visiting: Meg from Seattle and Rob and his wife Birgitte, 6-year-old son Markus and less-than-1-year-old daughter Amelia (argh, I still don't know if I'm spelling her name correctly!). Rob's family lives in Denmark, by the way, so this is a special trip (and their second to the U.S. this year). They all made it to White Salmon well before this weather hit (though Mom tells me that Meg's train from Seattle got delayed because of last week's train closures due to bad weather). Now they can just stay put and enjoy the weather. And we'll stay put and not drive through it.
Whale fluke

Dream time

Last night one of my recurring dream-locales did what it does, which is recur.

It's a city combining aspects of San Francsico and Seattle: very dramatically hilly, lots of bridges and viaducts (some of them crazily angled almost like ski jumps so that I can't imagine someone actually wanting to drive on them), on a bay or some other big inland body of water. It's reappeared in my dreams for years. So has a version of Hermiston, Oregon and the semi-desert around it, and a forested area on a coast much like Oregon's or Washington's (with a cliff-lined inlet filled with more leaping killer whales than you'd expect), and my mom's childhood home in NE Portland. That house was where I lived for the first three weeks of my life, and I visited it often until my grandparents finally moved out of it in the late '90s. It really imprinted itself on my dream-mind. One time I dreamed a dream that was set in that house, but the surrounding neighborhood had had some sort of horrible, neutron-bomb or zombie-invasion event happen to it and I was inside for safety.

I'm lucky, dream-wise: I dream vividly, and I almost never have nightmares. Even the somewhat disturbing dreams I usually can accept as dreams as they happen, so if they get closer to harrowing I can pull back from them and appreciate them without getting too wrapped up. It's not the dreamsickness that Caitlin R. Kiernan (greygirlbeast) talks about. (Good word, by the way, dreamsickness; Cait's good with words, I say, and Neil Gaiman and Harlan Ellison agree with me, so there. :-P )

My dreams are more likely to be disturbing if I'm a little too close to wakefulness when the dream starts: one night I was dreaming almost without realizing I was dreaming, and I dreamt of looking out my apartment window to see my car in a different position each time I looked. Glance, and it's parked as normal. Glance again, and it's 90 degrees from before. Glance again, and it's angled, with the suggested, shadowy presence of something nearby that's able to pick up a car silently like that. That threw me off; I needed longer to figure out I was dreaming, even with the unlikely event happening outside my window.

I'm sure you can tell: dreams are important to me.

Edited To Add: I remembered I'd written about that dream before, and I found it. It was from March 2005. Once again, LJ is a useful thing...