February 7th, 2010

Me 2 (B&W)

I hope it's home to somebody

I dreamed about a former family home last night.

It's the house in NE Portland's Concordia neighborhood where my mom's family moved in the early 1960s, and where Grandpa Bob and Grandma Dorothy Nelson lived until the late Nineties. Significant to this remembrance is this: I lived there for the first few weeks of my life. Mom had moved back to Portland from Virginia Beach because Dad was on an aircraft carrier hoping not to get shot at (he was in the Mediterranean, wondering if the Yom Kippur War was going to grow into a war where everybody came), and she felt better about giving birth near family than giving birth in Portsmouth Naval Hospital, far from family except for my 2 1/2-year-old brother T.J. So they went to Portland. And I arrived.

I must have really imprinted on this house. It's been a longtime dream locale for me. It helps that any imprinting got reinforced by all the times I visited and stayed over at the place. All sorts of dreams, even at least one post-apocalyptic one where I had to prepare to go outside because of Dangers Out There, it was recognizably That House. In that dream-logic way, it always felt like that house, and often it looked like it, too.

My family sold it in the late 1990s. None of us have lived there for over a decade. I still visit that neighborhood sometimes and drive past that house -- oh, and by the way, how adorable is this: it's on the other end of the long block from the house where my dad grew up, yes, Mom and Dad were neighborhood friends who fell in love and got married and are still in love and married, so I also drive by Dad's former home -- and wonder who's living there. And, kind of sadly, the house as seen from the street is no longer in that good a shape (Mom would use sharper words to describe it), and as my family has long been good to our homes, I wish that weren't so.

Dream-Me visited the house last night. And found it remodeled and home to a family. The family had changed some of the layout -- somehow the living room was a little smaller in a way that accommodated a kitchen on the north side of the house, instead of the south side where the kitchen really is, and the former kitchen was in a state of remodeling -- an empty room, waiting to be redone -- but it all somehow fit. (That house seems larger from the inside than from the outside. Had to be, with the four Nelson girls growing up in it back in the Sixties.) I talked to a couple of members of the dream-family. And got a good vibe from them. They were taking care of the house.

Oh yes, I definitely want someone to take care of that house. Doesn't take deep dream analysis to figure that one out.
Whale fluke


A few hours from now I'll be watching the Super Bowl. Hoping for a good, exciting game.

I'll be watching it from home. I decided I'm not in the mood to go out and watch the game at a venue. There are many, but I don't feel like venturing farther than the laundry room or the dumpster. So instead of cheering, yelling, and getting worked up at a theater, a restaurant or a bar, I'll be cheering, yelling, and getting worked up in my apartment.

I love getting worked up over football. I love when it's worth getting worked up over. The Saints' win two weeks ago against Minnesota definitely was.

Football, it lets me be in the moment. I am not a stats follower. (Neither's my brother. He's a computer engineer, and once he apologized for how computer-kept records allowed an explosion of deeply obscure sports stats to be compiled. Someone probably can figure out the correlation between wins and how many hometown fans took flash photos in their team's stadium.) I don't recite or recount the dramas of games, except in vague ways. I have trouble remembering players' names, unless there's a connection (like how the Panthers's Dante Rosario played championship-level high school basketball with my cousin back in 2001). I don't remember who was the stunned player on the field in 2000's Rams-Titans Super Bowl; I just remember being worried for the guy (he is Blaine Bishop -- thanks for the reminder, Wikipedia -- and he was all right) and still being worked up when that wonderful EDS commercial -- the herding cats ad -- came on. And I laughed and laughed and laughed, feeling release. I was worked up. It was worth getting worked up over.

This is a special game this year. I don't always feel that about the Super Bowl. But I've followed the travails of New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina and the failure of the federal levees, and the resurgence of the Saints in the years between then and now, and I'm so glad the team rebuilt and that its members took a role in helping New Orleans rebuild, physically and psychologically. I'm proud that the NFL and CBS, the network hosting this year's Super Bowl, have been sure to point out the damage that New Orleans is still healing from...and that Haiti has its own huge damage that needs healing. This game is something else helping keep the word out there that we have repair work to do. That we can help. This is more than a game, this year, and it can continue to be more than a game.

May it be a good, exciting game. Oh, and:

Geaux Saints!