Dreams, They Complicate My Life.

I have been remembering my dreams since I was a little girl. I always thought they meant something more, even back then. Even today, I still not only remember the dreams I had last night, but I can still remember some of the very vivid ones I had growing up. A few times throughout my life, I even started a dream journal, and every so often when I’m in de-cluttering mode, I’ll stumble across an old journal and open it only to discover a handful of dreams from the summer of 1997, or some other isolated period.

I wish I had done more dream journalling. I love reading these little snippets of my past, because not only does writing down your dreams help you remember them, but it gives me so much insight into the person I was at that time, and how it has contributed to the person I am today.

Growing up, I often dreamed of storms – hurricanes, tornadoes, monsoons, tsunamis…and I was always running from them. Because of these dreams, I’ve developed an unhealthy fear of storms. I’m like the dog that hides in the tub at the first rumble of thunder. When Hurricane Sandy was coming, I pored obsessively over the projected path, and prayed and begged just before each time I looked at it that it would change and veer off out to sea. No such luck.

my worst nightmare.

My Astraphobia is a post in itself, so I’ll save that for another time. Right now, I’m talking about dreams. I really do believe there is more to dreams than just “those things that happen when you close your eyes.” These things mean something. Whether it’s yourself telling  yourself what you already know but are afraid to admit, or the universe giving you a gentle reminder of who you are and where you’re going.

Personally, I think it’s a little of both.

A few years ago, I had a dream that I went to this party in someone’s attic. There was music playing – it was the song Then He Kissed Me, by the Crystals. In waking life, I had no connection to this song, whatsoever. But it played, in the background, in it’s entirety, which meant that in waking life I actually knew every note of every musical instrument of the actual song itself. That’s pretty crazy if you think about it. The brain is really a wonderfully amazing thing. Anyway, I was one of the first people at this party in the attic – I think I was helping set up. There was a green velvet couch against one wall. I was over by the couch as guests starting arriving. One guest was my now husband. At that time in waking life, he was they guy I went out with four times and wondered why we weren’t actually together. But here he was, in my dream, at this random attic party where they were playing Then He Kissed Me. We walked toward each other, and he looked at me and said, “I really want us to be together. It’s just not the right time yet.” And then, I woke up. I didn’t just wake up, I shot up. I remember sitting up in bed, and thinking, “what the funk was that??”

In the years that followed, I’d hear that song, and it would remind me of that dream, and the guy. As I mentioned in my previous post, the guy and I are now married. Guess what song played at our wedding for our first kiss?

and then he kissed me. (photo by The More We See)

Was it always going to be that way and that was why I dreamed about that song? Or was the dream of the song the reason it happened? The world may never know. But either way, the dream was important. It gave me hope. It reminded me of what I really wanted, deep inside myself.

I also often dream about people who have died, like so many other people do. In my dreams, the dead are usually intermingled with the living, however there is one thing that separates them – they do not speak. Not once has a dead person ever uttered a word in any of my dreams. Since my dad died a few months ago, I’ve had plenty of dreams about him. Yet not one single word. Weird, right?

i still miss him.

I love dreams. I love dreaming. I’ve flown many times. I’ve controlled them many other times. I’ve talked with people I haven’t seen in years. I once dreamed I was chatting with my brother, and I asked him what the lyrics were to a certain song, and he said, “I don’t know, I’m just a character in your dream. If you don’t know the lyrics, then how am I supposed to know?”

Oh, Brother. (Photo by The More We See)

Anyway, the reason I’m thinking about all this on this fine Sunday morning is that my husband is watching soccer in the other room so I have to find something else to do keep myself occupied, and more importantly, I had a very strange dream last night that I can’t stop thinking about. In waking life, sometime around 2005, I played in a band called 4 Hours Sleep. We had fun, and played a whole bunch of shows around Philly. We recorded an album of songs, and although the band wasn’t together for much longer after we were finished with the album, the songs really stood out to me, mainly because this was a pretty emotionally tumultuous time in my life, and the lyrics to those song still either make me smile, tear up, and just remind me what it means to grow up. In the dream, it was the present day, and I was at my mom’s house, and there was some kind of party going on. I was hanging out in my old bedroom, and I suddenly thought of that 4 Hours Sleep album, and began rooting through boxes of old stuff to try and find it. I eventually found it, and tried to play it on the TV (clearly this is the dream part) but I couldn’t get it to play, no matter how hard I tried. Then a bird flew into the room, I got scared and ran to my mom to help me get it out. Then I woke up.

I have no idea what that means, but this morning, I was on a mission to find that old 4 Hours Sleep CD. I had a vague idea of where it was, and lo and behold, I found it, and am listening to it as I type. It brings back wonderful and painful memories. And it also has on it my favorite song that I’ve ever written, that I had forgotten about.

I just made this youtube video and it took me like an hour. Can you believe this is the first time I’ve ever posted a video to youtube? Maybe that was the reason for the dream – to teach me how to do something new. 🙂

The Adventures of (stuffed) Grumpy Cat.

Last weekend my fiance, our close friend, and I took a trip out to the local Barnes and Noble. While wandering around, we came across a stuffed Grumpy Cat. I’m kind of obsessed with the unhappy little ball of furry cuteness, so upon this discovery, my wonderful fiance snatched it up and bought it for me.

Best. Present. Ever.

I promptly gave my new favorite possession a prime spot in the center of the bed.

Grumpy Cat says, “no napping during the day.”

But that wasn’t enough. Grumpy Cat (stuffed) was not satisfied with merely remaining stationery on a pillow. And so the adventure began the next morning, when our morning coffee was interrupted.

Maybe coffee will make Grumpy Cat less grumpy.

The coffee didn’t help. Next, our taste in music was insulted. Man, he’s grumpy. (The stuffed version is a he, fyi).

“I refuse to listen to your crap-rock.”

The next day our water heater broke. Ugh. But no one was more upset then Grumpy Cat (stuffed).

A cold shower makes Grumpy Cat extra grumpy.

I thought maybe some exercise would help improve his mood. Heck, it always works for me! But, alas, it only made things worse.

“This running thing is for the birds.”

Maybe all Grumpy Cat (stuffed) needed was a friend. Everyone needs a friend, right? Apparently not everyone.

“I hate you.”

I was starting to give up. I decided to let Grumpy Cat (stuffed) explore on his own and maybe that would cheer him up. He didn’t get very far.

“This may be a cat door, but it’s certainly NOT a Grumpy Cat door.”

As a last resort, I gave him a book to read, to hopefully take his mind off of his grumpiness.

“I don’t see what’s so great about this Harry Potter fella anyway.”

I give up. I should have known you can’t change a cat. 😛

Symphony in Cinnamon Maple.

My friend’s birthday was the other day, and I wanted to make a cinnamon maple cake with maple buttercream, since he was a big fan of the last one I made. That one included banana and was in cupcake form, and this time I wanted to try it minus the banana, and as a small cake — 6″, to be exact. I also got to thinking that I really hadn’t done much in the realm of cake decorating over the past few months, so I thought I’d take this opportunity to bring something fancy to the table. I always wanted to try my hand at a rosette cake, so I went for it.

a white icing waltz.

Not only did this cake wind up looking rather pretty, but it tasted pretty darn good, based on the feedback I received from those who dared to sample it, in all it’s rich, billowy, sweetness.

a maple concerto.

Something about this cake reminded me of music – classical music, to be exact. Possibly the way each rosette just flowed seamlessly into the next, like a melody or a symphony by Strauss. Maybe it was the way the cake and icing complimented each other so well, like an operatic soloist who sings with the music, yet creates a unique and beautiful melody in her/his own right. So yeah, this cake was kinda like that. 🙂

Sweet Sounds.

Clearly one can gather from this blog that I love baking, and I love writing. If you’ve read a few posts, you may have also gathered that I love running. There is one more love of mine, which you probably don’t know, as I’ve recently come to realize I have not once mentioned it on the blog: singing.

Before I was a baker, writer, or runner, I was a singer. I’ve been a singer pretty much since I learned how to talk. I may have even sung my first word (it was “Dad.”).  I started wondering why I hadn’t mentioned singing at all on the blog, and without getting too much into it, it was because shortly after I started the blog, I suddenly lost my “voice.” Not literally – I could still physically sing. I just could not mentally. It was not stage fright – anyone who knows me knows that the concept of “stage fright” is completely foreign to me. It was literally like I woke up one morning, and never wanted to sing another note, period. Suddenly, the thing I’d loved the longest was torture for me. I was practically repulsed by the idea of getting up in front of people and performing. So I just stopped.

I did virtually no singing/performing for about 9 months, excluding a couple of fill-in gigs and a back-up singing gig here and there. But nothing that was mine – I had removed myself from singing just as the desire had removed itself mysteriously from my heart. I even managed to convince myself (and one of my close friends) that I never really wanted to sing anyway. That performing wasn’t “for me.”

Then, I woke up.

Performing, singing…these are a part of me – they are ingrained in my soul – part of my make-up, my DNA. I’ve been singing since I was THREE YEARS OLD. It’s who I am – it’s my essence. I mean, I have a treble clef tattooed on my shoulder, for pete’s sake. Before anything else, there was singing. And anyone who’s ever sung their heart out on stage knows what a wonderful, amazing, fabulous, and therapeutic release it is. Singing makes me feel alive. Music is the key to the soul. My key must have temporarily slipped under the rug – but thank God it has been found.

So, in keeping with the baking theme, I’m now singing with an acoustic duo, called Sugarbox, and as the name implies, it’s pretty sweet.  Click the image below to check us out, if you’re so inclined. 🙂

the sound of sugar.

So if you’ve lost your “voice,” fear not – it will return, when you’re ready. In the meantime,  running a marathon might help. 😉