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Counting sheep over the Roman wall between the Cherry Trees with IRIS – CORRECTION

(Correction to the “snacking portion” of the dream below………..

But it WAS a dream, coming from my reality of my environment…..)**

Counting sheep over the Roman wall between the cherry trees with IRIS

English: Cherry trees field near Villars, Vauc...

English: Cherry trees field near Villars, Vaucluse, France (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have you ever had a dream that was so delicious that you wanted it to go on forever?   That happened in the wee hours of this morning.  I got up as usual to sip a drink, check out the brilliant stars outside the huge bedroom window, use the toilet and go back to bed.  But I couldn’t sleep.  So, I started counting sheep with Iris.   We were sitting on my front step looking towards “Bubba’s house” . ( I’m sorry to say that Bubba’s house is not so attractive and I have planted 2 cherry trees to grow really big and hide his house from my view.)  Anyway, Iris is my 2 1/2 year old petit enfant, (grandchild) .  We started counting sheep at 101.   But beyond the cherry trees there was a field going way across to Bubba’s house and his house was not anywhere,  only a low stone wall that was put in by the Romans.   The sheep were very big and had lots of wool and they were having a hard time running and jumping the wall, so we were counting ever so slow.  “One Hundred and two, one hundred and three………space space, sigh sigh, oh, here one comes……….up……..over…… hundred and four…………and so on until, apparently, I fell asleep.    Then the most incredible thing happened.   Several babies, all Iris’ age were jumping on the big bed with tall posts, and invariably one of them hit the post and fell to the floor crying.  My son Ryan comes in and says, “This has got to be protected!  We can’t have the kids hurting themselves….it needs to be padded so they don’t get hurt”.   Well, I took one look at the big post bed and then him and said with  mother authority, “Look, if they’re gonna be jumping on the bed, they need to learn there are consequences, – one big crash into the post – and they’ll learn not to do it again.  Besides, they really need to go to the park and run off this energy.   I’m going to take them!  “  Ryan says, “Why don’t you let then run over the Miedievel Wall in the front and climb the cherry trees?”   Then, I gathered up Iris and all the other children (her cousins? –  I have no idea, there were just a LOT of kids) and I took them to a park to run, slide, climb – whatever.   My son and his wife appeared grateful that I had taken the kids to the park.  But I started worrying because I thought, “Oh dear God, I’ve said too much now to my son and he is going to kick me out of the house now!”     That’s funny just thinking about it, because I’m always worried I’m going to say the wrong thing, say too many things, be too emphatic, too high strung, too too much.   You know, it’s the “your mother has gone too far syndrome”.

A few minutes later, I’m sitting on the couch with same children (of which I don’t know who they are – but I imagine that they’re all the cousins, or maybe they’re the children of the future – God only knows) – but dreams are like that.

My sister-in-law is there with us.  A Crunching sound is heard.  It continues as we’re all watching a documentary on bugs and snakes. The crunching gets louder and I turn around and the children are snacking.  I say (very loudly) STOP SNACKING!!! Dinner will be ready in less than 2 hours!!  You won’t want your dinner!!!  ( I don’t know what this is, this snacking, because we don’t have it in France.   We eat three meals a day.  It’s very strange.   We don’t even have snacking materials.   I’m confused. )   The children look at me like I’m crazy and then we go to the next scene.

** Correction on above:  In reality, the French DO snack .  I’ve been at the beach a lot lately.  There is a LOT of snacking.  There is “Barbe a Papa” – cute name for “Cotton Candy”, there are candies, and many SMURF shaped chewie candies, there are sandwiches, chips, “biscuits” = “Cookies” – – – and a lot of water bottles.   That’s my correction for the “Snacking portion of the dream”.    My favorite is the “BARBE a PAPA”!!!!!!



It’s hot and sweaty and I’m in Marseille walking from where the bus driver has just announced “Terminus” – which means he “ain’t going any farther and we must get off”  –

English: A street in Marseille, France.

English: A street in Marseille, France. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, I’m off with scores of other walkers and we wait at a long light to cross over to the metro entrance.   We are all sweating.  There is a tall girl in a long skirt and sandals with her very tall boyfriend and an older man next to her with very bad swollen feet.  Besides these 3 there are about 40 others.   The light changes and like a herd, we cross into the next street, walk down in the metro and I see the same couple and the same man with swollen feet.  Then they disappear.  Then the metro comes and I hop on and voilà, there is the man barely making the door before it slams shut on him and his bad swollen feet.   After 2 stops, a long walk up the stairs, across the underground and down more stairs I am on the final approach to VIEUX PORT where I’m checking out sales which are fabulous this time of year.

After a race to get done so I can use the very same metro ticket I came with (it’s only good for 1 hour), I head back down the same way I came and unbelievably, there is the tall girl with the long skirt and the sandals this time without the boyfriend and I’m like – how does this happen that I have traveled all this distance, over and underneath huge Marseille, and see the very same girl that was at the bus stop (Terminus) over 5 km away?   It’s bazaar.

Well, all of the above are dreams except for the Marseille one. That was true.

By this time, I was in need of a SNACK – badly!!! But we don’t snack here, so I went to a cafe and bought a “jus de tomate” (tomato juice) with lemon slice, tabasco sauce, Worcestershire sauce & celery salt & drank slowly and watched the world go ‘round.     No, there was no vodka in it.   That was my “snack” and that enabled me to do the long trek back to British Council, where David picked me up.    yeah.

Dreams and reality.   They are often fun and often mixed up.

4 Comments Post a comment
  1. Not sure you will get this, but I live your posts Peggie

    Sent from my iPhone

    July 10, 2013
  2. DACO #

    You are so full of life you don’t even stop when you’re asleeep !! Love your vivid dreams !

    July 13, 2013
  3. Reblogged this on Letters from Marseille and commented:

    a correction on “Snacking”

    July 17, 2013
  4. Guess what! My teenage students just told me they don’t like cokes and that they don’t snack either. They are 16-to 17 year olds.

    July 19, 2013

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