Danish Delight

How can one deny such beauty?

Something's Cooking

Should I just take it back what I said yesterday? You see, I "asked" for something very simple just before i got to bed: "Please, let me at least have a fun dream tonight!". And I got it.

I know there was a lot going on in this dream (and maybe even things not suitable for public display, I can't recall all the details...), but the fun thing was I also dreamed about celebrity chef Jamie Oliver, and that we were having lunch while discussing cooking. Recipes on salad dressings, and whether Greek yogurt or sour cream was the best option for main ingredient. I felt rather confident in this dream and perfectly at level with Jamie himself. His wife was there too and I think I had an idea for them coming to Norway and open up a guest house or something like that.

In real life I have no intention (nor need) of competing with the professional chefs, but I do miss cooking for the people I care about. Having the time, energy and opportunity to do it. That's a simple thing to ask for, isn't it?

Interpretation

I made a little search online, and there were several dream dictionaries available. If you approach this "serioulsy", you know that each symbol can't be interpreted as a single phenomenon, but has to be taken into the interpretation of the whole dream. And I have also learned that not only are the symbols in themselves significant, but maybe even more important are your own feelings and reactions towards the events of the dream.

Cut&Paste from various "Dream Dictionaries", with my own comments:

"Cello: Seeing or hearing a cello in your dream, represents sensual or creative achievements. You are exhibiting much strength and stability." This was from a preceding event in the dream. With me at the top of the stairs there was this aristochratic woman in a quartet, playing the cello.

"Castle: Seeing a castle in your dream means reward, honor, recognition, and praise for your achievements. It foretells that your future will be a happy one, surrounded by the love of your children, generosity of neighbors, and comfort of friends. You are destined to a position of power, wealth, and prestige. Dreaming that you live in a castle means your need for security and protection to the point where you may be isolating yourself from others." So what does it mean then, that I didn't see the castle? It was behind me, and I "knew" it wasn't mine?

"Carriage: To see horses pulling vehicles, denotes wealth with some incumbrance, and love will find obstacles."

"Driveway: Seeing or driving up to a driveway in your dream, symbolizes an end to your journey. It also represents security and rest. Alternatively, it indicates your path toward achieving inner peace finding your spirituality." Sounds good, but taking the emotions into account really does set in another perspective. It clearly wasn't me coming to that end. But boy I wish it was true; security, rest and inner peace.

"Curtains: Dreaming that you are shutting the curtains means secrecy and a repression of thoughts. You are concealing a personal matter or an aspect of yourself. On the other hand, to dream that you are opening the curtains indicates that you are ready to reveal something hidden." The curtains here were something I only observed, I neither shut nor opened any. But something's revealed, that's for sure. A clue might be ...

"The color yellow: Happiness or a positive outlook. To dream about golden yellow can mean you're feeling blessed. Yellow can also represent fear or cowardess." To me, in this case the latter meanings makes more sense. Fear of the unknown, the hidden?

"Garden: A formal garden may symbolize order or symmetry; following the rules."

"Dress: Seeing or wearing a dress in your dream, represents a feminine outlook or feminine perspective on a situation. You are freely expressing your femininity. Dreaming that you are wearing a white dress, suggests that you want to appear pure and angelic toward others." Again, it wasn't me wearing the dress. So it's a wish then?

"Weather: Dreaming about the weather means your emotional state of mind." This is where I get really puzzled. If the following symbolic interpretations are saying something about my mind, I'd be happy. But as I said yesterday, strongest feeling I had while dreaming, was that it wasn't mine. That wonderful day, with sunshine and warmth, didn't belong to me.

"Summer: Dreaming about summer, represents growth, knowledge and maturity. You are showing tolerance and expanding your realm of understanding."

"Sunshine: Dreaming of sunshine indicates that you are experiencing some sort of emotional or situational breakthrough. You are headed on the right track."

"Stairs: Dreaming that you are walking up a flight of stairs indicates that you are achieving a higher level of understanding. You are making progress into your spiritual/emotional/material journey. It also represents material and thoughts that are coming to the surface. Dreaming that you are walking down a flight of stairs, represents your repressed thoughts. It suggests that you are going into your unconscious. It also refers to setbacks that you will experience in your life."

Or could it be that I'm already at the top of the stairs, looking down, and not realizing that the castle is right behind me? I'll just have to turn around for reward, recognition, and praise for my achievements?

Freud would be proud of me...

The Castle

Dreamtime again. There are different schools regarding dream interpretations, and of course views differ whether dreams needs to be interpreted at all. But I think we can all agree, that dreams mean something to us, even if it's just a way of getting some "free" entertainment. Your personal cinema.

Obviously not all parts of a dream are equally clear to you memory, and I'm not sure if telling an incomplete dream is any good? But some say, that in itself is significant, that the parts you remember are the ones that are important to you for some reason. To the dream then:

I stood at the top of the stairs, overlooking the castle grounds. It was a beautiful day, and I mean it. Summertime. The temperature was perfect, it was like being soaked in water at body temperature. There was something timeless and infinite, yet very fragile over the moment. It was like pure happiness caught in a split second.

But it wasn't mine. From my view, with the castle in my back, I saw this horse drawn carriage coming up the driveway. The sides of the carriage were draped with yellow curtains, concealing the passengers. The carriage made a half circle and stopped just below the stairs, and a couple stepped down. There was the happiness. They were of noble birth, aristocratic, rich and beautiful. She wore a fantastic but simple dress which shimmered in the sunlight. I think the couple was on its way to a party of some kind at the castle. I knew I would never be a part of that, and that was the strongest feeling I had in the dream.

Then I dreamed I woke up, and I was intrigued by the vividness of the dream. It had been so clear, so crisp and detailed. Just like a movie. Strangely enough I started to reflect on the dream while I was still asleep. Amazing how you can get so tired from sleeping, but I guess it's my mind telling me I have issues I need to handle. Awake or not. Yellow curtains, what was that all about? I know some dream interpreters pay a lot of attention to colors, maybe I should ask one?

Boooring!

Another night, and - nothing. Went to bed, and again I looked forward to fantastic adventures and thrilling excitements. Don't be alarmed, I'm not starting as a soft-porn writer, I'm only talking about dreams. Or rather the absence of them.

Dreams have always been a significant part of me, but I really haven't thought of it that way before. I have always had a lot of dreams, and quite vivid ones, and I also thought that was the case for all people. It's not, or at least not all people are aware of them or pay any attention to them.

Well, I believe my dreams are there to identify me, to help me and sort things out. My unconscious introduces concepts and thoughts to me in my dreams that "I" wouldn't listen to while awake. This could get really complicated, and as this isn't about the function of dreams we'll leave it for now.

Sometimes I have dreams so "perfect" that when I wake up in the morning, I have a true sense of it's reality, and I can feel totally convinced that it actually happened. Then I'm blissfully content for the rest of the day, unless (and that is most likely going to happen) real life hits me. But if I could custom order dreams like that, and have a guarantee that no one tells me the truth - I think I could live like that. Sure, I'm kidding, but it's an alluring thought, isn't it? And I have actually on more than one occasion been able to bring a nice thought into sleep, and have a rewarding dream.

But not now, for weeks haven't had one dream that I could remember, either sweet or nightmarish. This made me think of my unconscious (as if it was some separate, higher power...), and what's it doing to me. The answer is:

Stop dreaming! There is a world out there, which is far better than any reverie. It is real, ready to be explored with all senses!

Reaching For The Stars?

Well, here's an excellent site which can bring the whole Universe, and the stars with it, into your own living room. Beautiful.

180 Degrees Of Being

I'm exhausted after this weeks turmoil. The different emotional states I've been in since Tuesday, I'm sure could fit into any psychology curriculum. And now? I've just had a most delightful evening with a friend of mine, and I feel a whole lot better.

I had quickly whipped up something to eat; a veggie pie with broccoli, sundried tomatoes and onions. And cheese of course. All washed down with a litre of Italian plonk, which was surprisingly good. After that we checked out "boats for sale" on the internet. The Sambuca I brought from Sardinia went really well with that. I must admit I almost got a little bit tipsy, and that's probably also the reason why I'm sitting here writing, instead of jumping to bed. I will, in just a second.

The Green Monster

This one's only because I promised you, Toril. And besides, I seem to have lost my inspiration today, so why not write about this dream I had? Lately I have been dreaming a lot, and very strange things too, but I think this one excels.

In the dream I moved back and forth into two different parts, seemingly without connection. Right now, and especially since I'm not attempting any interpretation of the dream, I'll only tell you about the freaky part.

"I was somewhere. I say somewhere because I can't recall anything about where or when or how. But in this somewhere there was a cactus in a pot, about half a meter tall, light green with two stems, and it had a lot of small sharp spines. It could have been a Saguaro. I looked at the base of the cactus and was suddenly terrified. There was a part of the cactus sticking out and it was shaped like a foot! It didn't just resemble a foot, but it was exactly like a foot. Except it was a part of the cactus, green with spines and everything. I think I then moved into the other part of the dream, and when I "got back" again the cactus had produced an arm too! In this manner the dream continued for a while, back and forth, each time with a new part developed on the cactus. In the end the whole thing detached from the cactus, and I held in my arms a baby! Now the baby looked normal, not like a cactus anymore, but I knew otherwise. It had this creepy Chucky feeling to it. Evil, sinister, only waiting to do something bad. What precisely, I couldn't imagine, I only knew I had to play along not to annoy it. I prattled and babbled, taking good care not to do anything to evoke the devil inside. I put on a diaper and some cloth. Guessed what I dressed him in? A little brown monks robe, with hood and all; had this feeling that it might "tame" the viciousness. Before anything really bad happened the alarm went off, I woke up and was rescued from this beast in disguise."

Interpretation? No thanks, not today.

But take a look at the picture here, I found it when I Googled for images on "cactus". It came up as one of the first hits, and it immediately caught my attention for obvious reasons. I clicked on it, and was almost as spooked as in the dream, when I found out who the painter was. Odilon Redon, whom I basically know very little about, but it is the second time I unknowingly choose one of his works to accompany a blogpost. And these two are very different as well.

If nothing else, I know now that so many significant moments in my life have a deep connection with art. In some way or the other. Or is it that art is connected to everything anyway? In some way or the other?

Dreamy Painting

Déjà vu? No, not really. I did blog this image only a few days ago, but that time I just wanted to accompany the post with a nice and suitable picture. This time it's about the picture.

My youngest daughter came home today, after having spent the weekend with her father. The computer was on, with my blog on top, and the 13-year old sat down and read some. She said:

"Mum, this is really weird. I dreamt about this painting tonight, and I know I haven't seen it before. In my dream I was standing somewhere with a lot of people hurrying by, and silently watched the painting. What's even more odd is that I felt something was missing, 'cause these two weren't there!"

She pointed at the Philosopher and the Woman.

Freud's Boat

Well, we didn't get the boat. Right now I'm not too sure what to think about the whole thing, but if I have understood just a fraction of what I'm supposed to, at my course in Psychoanalysis, I believe the dream I had last night tried to tell me something:
I really can't remember that many details, but suddenly The Boat appeared, and to my astonishment I found out that she actually was driven by nuclear power and radioactive! Dangerous to say the least, and far more complicated to take care of than anyone could have imagined. Neither of us are Atomic Scientists. In this dream lies the possibility of some useful interpretations, but it's too late now. I'd rather go to bed and see if I'll get a "follow-up".

I'll think we'll probably go for more sail and less motor. (Toril, how much do you charge for lessons?) ;) lol

And something completely different: I've made a new "design",
Come visit my second store on CafePress!

Peeing My Pants

My essay was supposed to be handed in by Friday, and as I'm going away Thursday morning I thought I'd rather finish my writing tomorrow, Wednesday. But today I was relieved to learn that the due-date has been postponed until next Tuesday, and immediate I leaned back in my chair and imagined I had all the time in the world. But that, my friend, is really like wet yourself to keep warm.

Regardless, I'm happy for the extra time 'cause I'm kind of stuck now. Partly I'm not really sure how philosophical I can keep this text and still meet the expectations regarding reference to the curriculum and required reading. But hey, What the Hack, I think I'll stick to my personal style and see what happens. That's usually a good idea, why not this time?

The other reason for my struggel with the writing is that other wet dream I've had lately (without peeing my pants). The one about the boat. Yeh, I know, you've heard it before. I even said we already bought the freakin' ship, but the thing is we really weren't sure. Should we go for the one that seemed to be a safe (as safe as a boat can be) investment, but perhaps lacking a bit charm, or should we decide upon the one we really fell for? The one which probably had a lot of hidden problems? Mind or heart? But there was also a third alternative... a lovely lady who had it all - tons of charm, regulary inspected (without negative comments!) but of course she seemed to be out of our reach, we're not that rich. In fact, we're not rich at all. I for my part am only repeating my usual stunt. Spend my savings on something I believe in.

I am a great believer. And I belive in many things, fate and destiny being two of my favourites. Or do they count as one? Anyway, according to that we might actually end up with the dreamboat afterall! Guess her name? Frigg!


For you who are too lazy to link, I'll just tell you that Frigg was the wife of Odin, and she was the only one who knew humans fate almost as well as her husband did, back in the good old Viking days. I wonder how they kept warm?...

Dreams

It's more important to share a dream than to make one come true on your own.

Stories

So now, what possible use could one have of a more ore less reduntant old blog, some kind of remnant from a university-course in webaesthetics? What I mean, should I give it some direction or just continue to post my reflections on everyday life? One idea I came up with, was to write stories. The beauty of it, is that I could tell anything I want, without claiming it to be true. I could leave that entirely for you to decide, whether the story is plausible or not. Actually I have a few written down already. Some of them have been told by friends (and enemies?), and others are totally results of a vivid imagination and possibly too much wine. Others again are very true, as they are recallings of my own experiences.

I think I'll start with this one:

The Lunch

He woke up with an excruciating pain jolting through his head. It felt like someone had connected his brain to an electric circuit. His eyelids were swollen but with a tremendous effort he opened an eye and he was in for the first shock; he didn’t have a clue where he was. As a matter of fact, when he came to think of it, he didn’t know who he was either. The walls around him were spinning so he closed his eye again and tried to make some sense of it all. Thinking wasn’t the easiest thing to do when the upstairs department was closed off with electric wiring, but some fragments of his memory somehow found their way out in the clear. A woman made her presence before of his shut eyes, and some woman she was! He was sure she was a dream come true, with those legs and those eyes looking right through him. A piece of conversation surfaced from his scattered memory:
-How nice of you to come, Mr McCullough!
-The pleasure is all mine, Miss Smith.
”Mr McCullough must be me then”, he thought while searching through his memory data-bank. ”Sounds familiar actually, wonder if there is a first name that goes with McCullough?” At this stage his brain worked as smoothly as a piece of fine machinery - filled with saw-dust that is – but for some reason a name popped up. ”John! That’s it, that’s my name: John McCullough!” Miss Smith was still a mystery but it might come back to him later. All this thinking made him weary and he dozed off again.
In his dream he hurried down West Hubbard Street to reach his office at J B Hardy Investors Inc. It was winter, and winter in Chicago could be really bad. Snow was whirling from and into every possible direction and he was covered in a thick layer of white as he entered the building. He greeted the clerk at the front reception and rushed into the overcrowded elevator. His office was on the 14th floor so that’s where he left the elevator not a second too soon. How he hated it; packed liked sardines, conscious of not showing his disgust with the odour of garlic from yeasterdays take-aways and the smell of damp woolen clothes. He knew that to everybody else he was the picture of perfection; and he sure wasn’t going to let them think otherwise. Still a bit woundup he ran into a person in the hallway and they both almost fell over. Then he suddenly felt something really hot running down his leg, and he found himself drenched in caffè latte.
-Oh my God! I’m soooo sorry, I didn’t mean to. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?
He was just going to say the standard ”No thanks, I’m fine” when he looked at the person. It wasn’t merely a person, it was a woman and not just any woman. It was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes upon and he had laid his eyes upon quite a few. He suddenly felt like an awkward schoolboy and the woman sent off an unarming smile showing a row of perfect white teeth. Too good to be true, he thought.
-How about me taking you for lunch later today?
-Sure, Miss…?
-Smith, she said , let’s meet by the front reception at two, OK?
-Yeah, OK, he answered slightly flustered.
In his office, he changed into a pair of dry and clean pants; he always kept spare clothes there in case of any kind of emergency. A little smile played on his lips when he set out to work on the day’s agenda. He called his secretary, Miss Benton, and told her to set up a meeting with the chairman of Wakefield B C Inc., a fairly large industrial building contractor which had been run by the same family for ages. Like everyone else in the same business they strived to get contracts these days; nobody seemed to be building anything for the moment. And that’s where J B Hardy stepped in, offering a solution most of them were willing to accept. But in their despair they were fooled by the quirks only a lawyer could put in a contract and so in the end they were bought up, devided and sold out and the only one happy about it was old Hardy and friends. The rest of the morning John spent running figures and estimating the total he would add to his bankaccount when the deal was through. When he went to his lunchappointment he was still smiling…
Or was it a dream? Lying there in this strange room he felt that the lunch with this Miss Smith had been quite real. He even remembered where they went and what they had to eat. They had caught a cab just outside the building and she directed it to a very ”in” and not to mention very pricey place; d.Kelly on West Randolph Street. The place in itself was worth a visit, if only for a drink, with it’s exposed brick walls and roomy layout. And if you fancied the the photographs hanging on the walls one could be yours, with frame and all, if you had couple of hundered bucks to spare. Even if food was the last thing John longed for he could still feel the taste of the hearty chicken matzo soup he had, served with crisp Cuban panini, on his tongue. He also remembered that he made a mental note that this might be a good place to take the poor chairman of Wakefield B C Inc..
As he slowly recovered his memory he felt a little better, but only for a while. He still didn’t know where he was or why he was there. And physically he was a mess, that’s for sure. Never before had he been so hungover, and wining&dining was as natural to him as for a dog peeing on a lamppost. Carefully he again opened his eyes and looked around. It looked like a hotelroom, but nothing like one he would pay for to stay in. The walls were hung with a paper so hideous it made him if possible even more sick. A burgundy floral pattern with golden, velveteen patches scattered around. Here and there strips of wallpaper were missing and the dirty wall behind shone through. Above him the ceiling threatened to fall down on him, heavy with nicotine from decades of smoking. What the floor looked like he didn’t know, he hadn’t dared to turn around yet, but could it be anything but absolutely disgusting that too? The bed was a real piece of work, heartshaped with a built-in massage function. At least he assumed it had one having watched a lot of bad movies, and this more and more reminded him of a really, really bad one.
In his mind he went back to the lunch, trying to remember what had happened. He had a vague feeling that the mystic Miss Smith had been in charge of the events from the very first beginning. Anyway, this was not the usual way he dated women, he was the man, the one who took the initative with his smooth moves. Just for once he was mesmerized by this stunning woman and all he could do was to play along. The bottle of wine accompanying the lunch was soon followed by heavier drinks. Two Long Island Iceteas could make any man lightfooted, and it didn’t stop with that. They talked of this, that and the other, who they were, and where they came from. He told her the same lie he told every chick he dated; the poor boy from the district who made a fortune, and she told him about her family which was, until she met him, the most important thing in her life. She said she believed in fate, and fate had brought them together. The lunch became quite extended in the end, actually to the degree that they could almost hit the nightclubs directly, and so they did. Didn’t she pay for the lunch as well? John thought. Normally he wouldn’t have accepted such a thing, but this was someting different, he knew that.
The District on West Lake Street was a high-glamour hang where a VIP-driven clientele congregated. They had even more drinks and tried to keep up an conversation in the noisy bar. By then everything was kind of a blur to him but fragments emerged from the deepest corner of his memory.
-John, don’t you just hate it when someone you trust screws you around? she shouted in his ear.
He recalled discussing friends and what they might do to you, making them less of a friend. He had told her about an incident when Robert who he thought was a friend; they worked together, had closed a deal which was his and by that got hold of something like three million dollars. What do you need enemies for when you got friends like that?
-My father isn’t feeling very well these days, she told him. Maybe you could help him, with all your contacts and everything. John had as always made the impression that he could do almost anything and knew almost everybody, at least anybody worth of knowing.
-I just might, he answered.
What had happened after the nightclub was even more obscure. This totally numb feeling was something he had never experienced before, and that added a sense of uneasy anxiousness to his poor mind. Did he walk the streets? To places where never sat his foot before? (Perhaps in another life, long before he made his fortune.) And it still didn’t place him in this sorry excuse for a hotel. By now he was so sick he just had to make an effort to reach the bathroom, hopefully there was one. If he was really unlucky this was the kind of hotel where you had to go out in the corridor to get to something resembling a bathroom. He rolled over and his suspicions about the carpet were confirmed; it might have been a royal blue once, but all the stains, which origins he really didn’t dare to think about, made it look like it was supposed to be patterned. Anyway, he was at least happy to see that the room in fact had a bathroom, and he crawled in that direction. He noticed that he couldn’t see any of his clothes on his way, neither did he wear his gold Cartier. He couldn’t help himself but emptying his stomach, sitting on all four. Totally exhausted he dragged himself up and looked into the mirror. When he was a kid his mum and dad had taken him to a horror cabinet with wax figures, and that had totally freaked him out. Still, what faced him in the mirror now was even worse. And all of a sudden he realized he had to alter the intention of the meeting with the chairman of Wakefield B C Inc., Mr Alan Smith.
After all, there is no such thing as a free lunch, which the brightly colored ink-snake slithering down his still sore chest would forever remind him of…

So, could this have been true? Is it?

I think next story might be a of a different kind alltogether, stay tuned...