A Long and Winding Mother's Dream

I dreamt last night that my son, who is now 23 years old, was a toddler being a typical tot (I call him Mark on my blog). Mark was the kind of toddler who inspires doctors and tried-and-true mothers to write parenting books to lend a hand to other parents who are at their wits end during trying transitions in their children’s lives.

In the dream Mark was being the curious and energetic toddler (and teen) he was in real life. In the dream he was acting the way he did then, attempting to disregard rules that cramped his style. In the dream and in real life, he was persistently and tenaciously intent on creating new opportunities to fulfill his own visions of sugar plums dancing in his head. Social norms were perceived only as obstacles to limit his sources for fun, enthusiasm or satisfaction. And isn’t this how it should be?

In the dream, as I did in real life, I am calmly steering him and guiding him away from ill-conceived endeavors that would risk his life or safety, or the safety or liberty of his siblings and others. In a Zen-like fashion, I redirect him repeatedly and calmly—consciously careful I don’t make him feel like a bad boy—but just as a matter of realistic fact.

He was doing what toddlers do and I was doing what mothers do; things like keeping him from playing in the road or kneeling on the ledge of a fourth-story window to get a better view of the people celebrating below, downstairs neighbors and their friends who fluttered 30-feet-down on the stone patio. (In real life it was his cousin “Tom” who did that, not Mark.)

In the dream later, I am in a colossal university lecture hall, which reminds me of the non-denominational church where I used to be a dutiful member and very much like the university I attend in real life. In the dream, I am trying to find a seat. Many seats are wacky and things keep going wrong (falling off their bolted legs, broken swivel desk pallets, etc.), I eventually find a seat, after meandering from one broken or unavailable desk seat to another. But what stands out is that I do this all in a noticeably tranquil but enthused manner.

There are other students who are having the same difficulty. The previously seated students are oblivious to our difficulty finding a desk chair. They are listening to the professors, comfortable in their working chairs with working swivel desk pallets. At one point I am conspicuously aware of my long black hair as I wend my way through more mismatched seats, squeezing through and by narrow aisles and hundreds of students/parishioners.

In the dream, after I found a seat and after the lecture is finished, I kindly tell the pastor/professor that the visiting professors, who he brought in to demonstrate or lecture, had very good teaching styles. I can tell he notices that I did not say he has a good teaching style. However, I compliment him regarding his own expertise (can’t remember now but it is about the classroom material).

I do not tell him that he has a good teaching style himself because it is not true. He hears what I am saying because I can tell he already knows where his strengths are, and where they fall short. He is not too vain. He is not too proud. He mentally notes what he is doing right and he will keep inviting visiting professors.

I can not remember any more of the dream right now so if I were to try to interpret it I would guess that I need to be more Zen-like with that toddler in me, the side of myself that is endlessly curious for new ideas and projects. I know I need to calmly and lovingly redirect my own nature that wants to pursue learning and illumination naturally but I need to sort out the effective sources from those that are not fruitful or helpful. I need to discern between obstacles that are good for me and those I must climb over.

So, symbolically, the mother in me knows not to hate and call someone bad for experiencing and longing for what many women experience during peri-menopause and after the kids leave home. I know I need to accept, like many other women my age, that this is a turning point in our lives after the children are grown. And it will take time to learn to climb new ropes.

As for the analogous dream professor/pastor, there are some visiting teachers and spiritual leaders in my daytime life that have a good style and others who have strengths in other areas. Also, there are some things about my own style of doing things that are good but I will not deceive or flatter my own animus* regarding things I am not good at.

(*In Jungian psychology a woman’s animus is that side of her self that has what is described as her more masculine traits and which also is thought to be the side of her nature that pushes her to action. The animus is thought to be the innate nature in a woman that encourages her to paint that picture or write that book or go for that promotion, etc. According to my understanding of Jungian psychology, males in women's dreams, including our sons, often represent a woman's animus.)


If the dream is about my own animus, then it fits with my latest attempts to gently inform myself of the truths and falsehoods in my life; the things I’m good at and the those I am not. If the dream is about my own animus, it fits with my latest reflections regarding the truth about the elements within my own psyche that are not proficient or well-developed. I will not tell myself that something is top-quality when it is not but I will recognize its unique effectiveness or significance. I will try to accept more than one truth, more than one value, more than one nature within myself.

This motivating factor in my psyche can handle this; he can accept and know that some ideas or ways of doing things are not all that good, while other abilities are very good. He is not too vain. He is not too proud. In the dream it is apparent that he will continue to teach but will also be encouraged to bring in visiting professors or divine guides, encouraged to keep doing what works. That is part of his strength and he is not blinded to his own good strategy to get his job done, to get through, to get by, and to make it to the next stage of life.

Ultimately right now I see there are things I need to do that are better than others and at this time, it is the pesky mundane tasks that want to send me off to a more compelling enterprise. Additionally, there are teachers I find who are better at teaching than others but this one also has his strengths. So, I will try to be honest with myself regarding varying values in my own psyche; keep it integrated; value the good in each facet of myself and accept that some desirable qualities are not present.

Analogously, teachers in my life could be the professionals I read regarding stock trading or they could be university professors in various subjects or any number of people who I perceive as spiritual guides. But I think too that in addition to real-life people I know, perhaps they also represent the practiced and proficient traits within my own nature—each with their own but differing qualities. And, it is wise to assess each value individually but truthfully.

The parts in the dream represent possibly the sense I feel so often these days as I attempt to wend my way through the hallowed halls of this new period in my life, finding some seats and writing pallets out of order, ruined, wrecked, finished, useless, defunct, kaput. (This is painful.) All the while, hoping and continuing to find one that works.

As I wend through this time in my life I try to remain conscious and grateful of both spiritual and material muscle. Regarding the hair part of the dream, it reminds me of the Mexican Indian I met on the street who told me that my hair was my power. I knew what he meant and he wasn’t flirting. And, I remember times, like during one particularly trying time in my life, that I felt the need to wear my long hair loose and straight to remind myself of the native powers, even if they got tangled.

Though I may try one seat or one swiveling writing tablet, I know all I need to do is walk past those that are ruined. I know that I need to keep looking for a functioning desk chair. I know I am to stay focused and need to continue the healthy pursuit of whatever will help get me through my own transition. And this brings me full circle to the discussion I had with my friend yesterday, who I call Caren on my blog.

After I wrote yesterday’s blog, I went to Caren’s house. We talked about Mark and how in his teens, my objective was not necessarily to find the perfect didactic curriculum for him but to follow guidance I received from an older woman and mother. This older woman taught me what to do for my son years ago. (I will call her Laura.) Caren knows all the things Laura taught me.

Laura encouraged me to just keep trying different forms of coaching and tutoring during a difficult time in Mark’s teen years. Laura taught me to do whatever worked to get him through a very difficult teenage transition. Laura made me see it was just a developmental stage. Laura kept me focused and calm and helped me to stay focused on the goal. The goal was to help him make the transition successfully to adulthood. Nothing more. It didn't matter what the neighbors said either.

I learned then that it is not always the journey that matters. So through his toddler days, I consulted pediatricians and found little ways to ease his transition. During his teen years, we kept re-enrolling him in different programs, just to see what worked. I never knew what would work but I had to just keep trying and just keep encouraging him.

Laura had taught me to just keep going and continue trying and to keep loving him—no matter what—until he got through the difficult transition many teens experience before they pass successfully into adulthood. And that counselor was right because my 23-year-old is a wonderful man now who matures more and more every day.

So yesterday over several cups of instant coffee, Caren and I decided that for ourselves now, we would mother ourselves in the same way. We would love ourselves and remind each other to do whatever works, not according to current trends and convention but whatever works—just to get through a difficult transition.

We agreed to remind each other that we are like toddlers and teens who are in a natural life process wherein we’re both undergoing a change and passing from one stage of life to another and with that we are shifting from one type of accomplishment and understanding to others.

We don’t have to know exactly at every moment what will work and what won’t. We just need to keep going.

We decided that we wouldn’t hate ourselves for sometimes not knowing exactly how to develop from an earlier phase of life to a later phase of life. Caren and I decided that together we would be patient with ourselves as we observe this prototype with its gradual development into another complex, enhanced or time-honored form. It seems too that my dreams may be intent on reminding me.

Our talk yesterday reminds me that like my son, I will make mistakes, I will want things I can’t have or can’t accomplish as I enter into a new phase of life while approaching 50 and while my childbearing self is changing naturally and rightly so. We talked about how with this change comes some uncertainty.

The dream and our conversation also reminds me to be gentle and understand that yes we may want to peek over a ledge but that we can gently and lovingly turn ourselves around to more productive endeavors. (Just wish I knew where the symbolic ledges are.)

It reminds me that though we may sometimes use aids that may not be the greatest or have teachers who are not the best lecturers, it sometimes is just about getting through the transition, or use visiting professors. So, considering the way I gently guided my son, even though some things were just to pass the time until he outgrew a former stage, I can do that too now for myself and for my friend Caren. Toddlers and teens do not transition perfectly and neither will we.

I loved my son, even though many times I disapproved of some coping techniques. But I always valued his determined nature and his insightful spirit. When he wanted something, like to get a soccer goal, nothing stopped him. He focused. Sure, he tumbled and struggled through various situations. But he was enthusiastic. He was driven. He still is.

My job as his mother was to help him through all the variables in the work of growing up in a complex world and to help him retain his unique and precious self, nonetheless. My job was to teach him to be careful for himself and others and to help him even when teachers threw up their arms when he entered the room. My job was to pay attention to the teachers who saw the beauty of his passionate nature. My job was to work with them.

So in the end, this dream and viable interpretation reminds me of another dream I had a year or two ago. It was simply an incorporeal dream voice. In that dream a tender, kind and loving voice said to me: “Mother, love thy self.”

This morning I woke up feeling like a loser

again, which is not such a strange occurrence in my life. I know I don’t really have reason to feel this way but nonetheless I do. So, I did what I always do when I feel like a jerk. I sat down by the sunny window and did a few more rows of a granny square. My latest crochet project is a granny square afghan, which I feel is a memorial to the best needle worker I have ever known, and sewed one of the finished six-row granny squares to the other five that I completed earlier this week.

But at 9:30 a.m. I had to get back to my computer because that’s when the market opens; yesterday I put three trades in after the market closed and I had to cancel some former orders so that they didn’t sell or buy two times. Anyway, after I was done that I decided to take a break and think about a blog I may want to write.

So, it was somewhat thought provoking to see jj’s comment wherein she asked me to post more about my knitting and crochet projects. She has carpal tunnel and likes to read about needlework and that makes sense to me, particularly because this afghan I am making is from odd lots of yarn that Jack’s mom gave me and Jack’s mom has used needlework her entire life to keep her hands working. But now more than 60 years of knitting and crochet, and at 80-something-years old, her arthritic hands are a challenge and she is now doing less needlework.


I’ll call Jack’s mom Andrea for the purposes of this blog. Jack’s mom is an inspiration to me. When Andrea was in her teens, she learned she had arthritis. Her hands have been crippled for numerous decades and she swears that knitting and crocheting saved her hands. That woman makes the most beautiful hats, mittens and Irish knit sweaters. Her sweaters must be worth a thousand dollars. I have never seen such beautiful Irish knit. She has treasure chests full of the finest work I’ve ever seen and she gives it all away to people in her life and to charity.

The detail and creative patterns always evoke compliments when I wear them and I wear them as often as I can. She tried to teach me Irish knit but I learned to knit and crochet through books and only know how to follow the coded directions. I couldn’t understand what she meant as she would describe that I had to think about the way the yarn was going to come back around. I so wish I could have learned from her but this woman has needlework in her bones, the bones she describes as “dying while she’s still living.”

She once asked Jack and I if we understood how archeologists can find bones thousands of years later that are intact but while she lives, her hands (and feet) can die, continuously becoming smaller and smaller and smaller. She’s seen doctors all her life and engaged in some experimental medicine, some of which she regrets and other medicinal remedies that she is ever so grateful for, but still her hands get smaller and smaller as the years advance. Andrea describes why she started needlework. After needing to quit her job years ago she took up needlework, precisely to save her hands. It has worked and she is otherwise a healthy woman, and smart!

Regarding learning styles, it was interesting that last week after someone on a woman’s forum gave me a website for granny squares, I printed out the instructions and got started with my new idea for what to do with Andrea’s yarn. (I would love to give it to her for birthday but I worry it will make her sad that she can’t do needlework so much anymore.) The instructions were on the coffee table near the first granny square. Jack picked up the pattern and said: how can you read this?

I told him that in my late 30s (we weren’t together then) I decided to teach myself to crochet. I bought a simple book and sat there day in and day out learning what all those symbols and strange lowercase acronyms meant. After telling him how I taught myself I realized that I’m doing that again but now it’s different acronyms and different symbols and it’s in a different skill. In the early days I spent so many hours doing needlework, later teaching myself to knit, and I found needlework to be an absolutely wonderful form of meditation.

It encouraged me also because I can so easily read needlework patterns now and it is somewhat analogous to my nature. Maybe I always need to be learning new symbols and terminology. Maybe I’m just so much like my mother. It’s like when I taught myself to bake for my children and then ended up working as a paid baker for nearly a decade to support them. So, as I write this I am reminding myself that once again, I am in a new place and learning something new and maybe someday I will actually be able to create a retirement income for myself when I am an old lady, which was my original objective to begin with when I started stock trading.

And if I can do that then maybe I will have the time to learn some of that Irish knit like Jack’s mom. I am sure I could never become as good as she is because needlework is truly in her bones and I know I could never get that good. And, if I learn this stock-trading gobbledygook, maybe by then I can also commit myself to learning to photograph my projects and post them on my blog. (Or maybe I can convince jj to blog a post about how to do it! *wink*)

Ok, and so now my dearest friend just called me and asked me to come over to visit (in my jammies) and so I’m going to today just screw the rest of being a stock trader for now. I’m going to go and be lazy. (No, I’m not going to edit this 10 ten times before I post it either.)

But! I will leave you with this, just because. Have a lovely day all...I'm off to play hookie:)



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Update 5:30 p.m.: Wow, home now and looking back over what I posted all I can say is that that was one serious random freewriting but it's all good. Anyway, I wore Andrea's Irish knit sweater today and my friend loved it (I'll call her Caren). She's a needleworker too. She told me to bring my granny squares to show her and I did. She showed me her works too. Caren has been crocheting for years and years. Her work is exquisite (sp). We often talk about our projects. Caren tells me that my lack of need to be "perfect" in needlework inspire her. I don't know why I can let a stich drop in needlework but in the rest of my life I am hard-pressed to let myself skip a stitch or step. But as I said, needlework is my meditation and maybe I ought to let myself skip a stitch in the rest of my life too. (And so again, I will not edit my update, just for practice:)

No End in Sight

I don't know exactly what to say about this preview for the movie titled, "No End in Sight." I may have to go see it but all I can say is that it creates a terrible knot in my gut.