a ride with god

I'm not sure why my sub-conscience thinks God is a llama.  In my dreams, God is always a llama. And he wears a monocle. Go figure.

Two years ago I had this dream.

Last night I dreamed I was riding an old carnival ride with God the llama.  It was one of those that have individual cars that go in circles and you feel like you are riding a huge protractor.  Our car was glitter lavender with mint pin stripes and red leather seats.  Many of the light bulbs on the ride were broken or missing and it made me worry that the ride was old and unsafe.

When the ride began so did the music.  It was "Bleeding Love" by Leona Lewis.

God the llama was sitting with his legs crossed on the outside seat and seemed hardly phased at all by the centrifugal force that was pulling me into him.  My hair whipped around wildly and I kept trying to hold it out of my eyes with one hand and hang on to the car with the other.

He was talking but I couldn't make out his words and I kept saying, "What? I can't hear." And the music was so loud. And the ride was old. And I felt a little desperate.

And then it was if time slowed down and everything was in slow motion and I heard him say clear as day, "I hope you are doing your best my dear.  What a waste it would be if you weren't. A shame."

And then he said, "And don't forget to bring more toilet paper upstairs."

That was it. The whole dream.  Oh, I forgot to tell you I was wearing overalls and Converse sneakers. And now I'm kind of hoping that overalls make a come back because they were really comfortable. I can skip the Converse. They make my feet sweat.

God the llama isn't white like the above photo. He's brown with white spots.  And very fluffy.

So now I'm thinking that I'm not really doing my best. At anything.

But does anyone ever feel like they are doing their best? Strike that. Does any mother ever feel like she is doing her very best at everything?

But I'm going to go ahead and try harder. Because, you know, God said to and all.

image by banana republic

letting go

photo: artful magpie

I dreamed of becoming a writer. A real bonafide, published author.

I started a writing journal.

I collected words like salt and pepper shakers.

flabbergasted
mozambique
discombobulate

I jotted down catchy phrases for future use.

I mailed off manuscripts.

After a while I started collecting my rejection letters.

Dear April, Thank you for your submission, unfortunately...

I glued the rejections into my writing journal.

Why? I don't really know. Maybe as proof of effort.

Sometimes you find yourself holding on for dear life to a dream, afraid to let it go. Stalled.

Sometimes your only available transportation is a leap of faith. Maragret Shepard said that. I read it on a calendar and it has stuck with me.

I slowly pried my heart from around the writing dream. I slowly, ever so slowly, let it go.

Years went by.

I discovered blogging.

Today I write not to make a living, but in spite of the crazy life I'm living.

I write because I let go and my hands were empty, ready to receive a new dream, similar to my old dream, revamped.

If I've learned one thing in life it is this: when you make plans God laughs.

I dreamed of becoming a writer. God made me a mother, wife and blogger.

My readers don't have to go to Barnes and Noble and buy a book. They can sit in front of their computer in their bathrobe with their coffee, bad breath and bagel and read for free. I'm quite sure more people click over to Suaviloquy everyday than would have ever bought my book.

And I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for dropping by and helping me realize the dream I never dreamed on purpose.

"look here" said the llama

I dreamt last night that I attended a very civilized luncheon hosted by a very distinguished llama. We had tomato bisque, sourdough rolls, Vietnamese spring rolls and Valentine's M&M's.

I was wearing a gorgeous chiffon evening gown the color of ripe limes with a large vintage broach, which I remember thinking, was made of real diamonds. I was self conscious that the dress was strapless and my hands fluttered nervously around my décolleté. I was also overly concerned with not spilling any soup on the broach. Obviously, it didn't belong to me.

"Look here," said the llama as he sat back in his seat, tugged on the bottom of his vest and adjusted his monocle. "It seems to me that a young woman like yourself needs only to look around at your splendid life to gain perspective. You seem to forget, dear girl, that you are one of the lucky few to have been born into high society. You have the world at your fingertips. You have only to reach out and grasp. All this moping and carrying on is very unbecoming a person of your position. Would you be so kind as to pass the butter?"

He sliced a roll in half, buttered it and added a happy face made of M&Ms.

I woke up with a sugar hangover and a new perspective. I'm not exactly 'high society', but I am ridiculously blessed in so many ways. I hope that in the future, I can curb any nasty little tantrums before they find their way onto my blog.

Shall we move on and pretend that Saturday never happened? I think the llama would approve.

Tomorrow is the big day! My one year blog celebration! AND I've got a giveaway! Come see what I have in store for all you lovely readers, who, by the way, I count amongst my many blessings.