Dream of a Dark Room

I had a dream the other night. Sleeping in my bed, eyes shut tight, minding my own business, I was thrown into a room. I don't remember many specifics about the room, only that it was definitely a classroom and incredibly dark. The whole room - walls, floor, ceiling - was a murky brown. Even the desks, the chalk board on the wall, and the teacher's desk were dark and difficult to make out. The only light in the room came from the open doorway, which appeared blindingly bright.

The classroom was also unusual because of a dark brown cloud that hovered just below the ceiling. It looked like a swirling mass of dirt, infinitely dark and dreary looking. I knew - as sometimes you can know in dreams - that this room was haunted.

Now, I'm not sure of the order of all the things that occurred in this dream, as dreams tend to be unclear in my memory, but I do recall most of what happened.

Out of that evil brown cloud, I saw a glowing object emerge (whether it was created in the cloud or had simply been caught in the current I do not know). It was an American flag, the small kind you can find in school classrooms. It floated and bobbed in the cloud like a ship on the ocean until it came to rest above the open doorway.

Before or after or around the same time that this happened, a boy came to stand in the open doorway. He was short, dark-haired, and bespectacled, and reminded me somewhat of Harry Potter, only without any scars or magical influences. I remember knowing that, while I could not see them, there were other students in the classroom; I was viewing the room and the boy through their perspective.

In at least this one moment in the dream - the boy was standing in the shining doorway and the glowing flag was above him.

Then he was in the classroom among the students, although I don't remember watching how he got there. This is where it gets a little fuzzy. Whatever happened in that classroom, the students unanimously decided (along with me, the viewer) that this boy was the "chosen" one, the one that was going to save them. The room itself appeared to recognise he was different. When he tried to leave, the haunted room seemed to become darker. The doorway that had been bright grew dimmer, contorting and shrinking around him, trying to keep him inside.

He did manage to leave, however.

Then, "bing!" I was instantly transported outside of the classroom. The sky was endless, the grass was green, and the day was still intensely bright though infinitely more cheery. I looked at the room that had seemed so terrifying and evil before and realized with astonishment that it was only a small, shabby one-room school house, much like the kinds in old western movies. I was viewing it from the outside while the young boy was walking back inside. Following him, I found the classroom had been emptied of its students (perhaps they had magically appeared outside as well) and only the teacher, who I hadn't noticed before, remained.

He had a half-crazed look and blood-shot eyes, truly miserable in all appearances. He was bent over what looked like tiny shards of broken glass, sweeping them up with a short broom and dustpan. As the boy entered, the teacher looked up with a wild look in his eye, still sweeping and hobbling farther into the room. The boy made a gesture towards the flag that hung above the doorway, saying something to the effect that he wanted to take the flag down and remove it from the room. He said this, of course, with the idea that doing so would remove the haunting.

The teacher spit with anger and fear (and a hint of madness) that the boy was a fool to mess with such things. He turned around and continued his sweeping.

Then the dream ended.

So, is the boy really a savior - a young person who wants to save the flag from the darkness? And the older man the real fool, busying himself with trivial matters and missing the whole point?

Or, is the child stealing the last point of light in an already dark room, only to leave it hopeless? And the teacher simply trying to clean up the mess he's made?

If I Died Tomorrow

This is, in fact, the first post of 2010 in my blog, though I don't know if that's a big deal or not.

If I were to die tomorrow, I don't think it would be that big of a deal. It might mean something that I actually had a blog, that I put time into writing my thoughts on a wall for all to see, that I cared. If I'm not alive tomorrow, people won't cry because I failed that one math test a few years ago, but the friends I made in school might remember me.

If I lived just one more day, would people care whether or not my underwear matched? Would they be grossed out to read my diary and find out that I picked my nose in private? Would they care that I had said hi to them every morning and gave them hugs when they looked blue?

If I fell off a bridge, was hit by a meteor, or was killed in some other wholly unpredictable and unexpected yet catastrophic event, would it matter whether or not my dreams were big or small, whether or not I wore makeup or left my face naked, whether or not I took the time to watch the ripples in the lake and imagine they were telling me something?

What would matter?

Twas a Good Christmas

There was the waking of teenagers
At 6:30 a.m.
And the shushed eager squeals
Of kids filled to the brim
With great expectations
For what was below
'Neath the round Christmas tree
With its lights all aglow.

And at last it was time
For the children to tumble
And rush down staircase
To open their bundles
Of colorful packages
All wrapped in red
And in green and in gold
In a Christmassy spread.

The parents smiled broadly
As three pairs of eyes
Widened and widened
With glee and surprise.
They paused for a moment
Before joyfully leaping
And into the gifts
The dove without speaking.

The wrapping was tossed
And the ribbons were torn
The box tops were ripped off
Quite quickly that morn
And with calls of delight
And excited embraces
Many thanks came out flowing
From those glowing faces

There were toys, there were clothes
A brand spankin' new game
And plenty of odd things
That can't really be named
There were presents from Santa,
From Dad and from Mom
From brother and sister
And one gift for the dog.

When the last of the wrapping
Had been thrown away
And every last gift
Had been opened that day,
We all gathered 'round
The prepared kitchen table
To eat Christmas breakfast
And thank God we were able.

And as we said grace
And I looked all around
At my family so dear
With their heads all bowed down,
I thought that a holiday
Named after someone
Should celebrate him
Not the holiday's fun
Or the presents or gifts
Or the food or the lights
Why it should be about
That very first Christmas night:

When a small little babe
With still wrinkled skin
All covered in straw
In a dark, chilly den
Was being watched by his mother
And her husband beside
Wiping tear-streaked cheeks
From when she had cried.
And that baby so small
Would be called the lamb
Of the king who held all
The world in his hands.

That must have been
The best Christmas of all
The one when Christ was
The one reason to call
To all a good night
Merry Christmas to all!

Thank You Spell-Check

Today is the first official day of Christmas break. However exciting as that may be, I'm not thinking about Christmas right now. I'm not wondering when I will actually kick myself out of the house and finally purchase some cheaply priced gifts for my family, otherwise known as Christmas shopping. I'm not considering watching my seventeenth Christmas movie of the season. I'm not even worrying about sending cards to distant friends. No, today I've set my mind on greater things ... like where the world would be without spell-check.

Honestly, have you ever considered the catastrophes that would ensue if authors, journalists, historians, lawyers, insurance agents, politicians, and others were at the mercy of documents that had not been spell-checked? Fights would erupt, families would break apart, and the press would have a field-day full of grammatical errors. Stephenie Meyer would ask for her royalties and get a prophet, Christians would hate satin, daffodils would be arrested and their pistols confiscated, and the president wouldn't be allowed to except bribes.

Okay, so maybe mass hysteria is a bit of an extreme prediction, but the world is - nonetheless - safer with the existence of such an engine. So be thankful for spell-check, helping worthless spellers like me succeed since 1992.

23 Days Left! 23 Days Left!

The rain is coming down in buckets upon buckets, cats and dogs, a flood that can be likened to that of Noah's ark. My feet are thoroughly soaked and smell rather like wet dogs, no pun intended. It's one of those days when all you can think about is curling up on the couch, tucking a blanket up around your chin, and not letting your arms wander out except to bring hot cocoa to your lips or fast-forward to the good parts of your favorite Christmas movies.

And, let's not forget that's there is just mere 23 days until Christmas! In just 23 days, my brother and sister and I will rush into the living room where an exquisitely decorated tree and some mysterious, "overnight" presents are awaiting us. Now, we're not the kind of family that treats the opening of presents with the gusto that some people posses, diving into gifts in a messy free-for-all highlighted by squeals of delight and the sound of wrapping paper being devoured. Rather, we prefer a more orderly process. Everyone takes turns opening presents, so there's no confusion as to who you'll hug when you open that fabulous American Eagle blue blouse or pull out that highly-anticipated Mario Brothers Super Smash game from its colorful bag. We can get a little carried away sometimes and suddenly have more than one pair of eager hands clawing at their gifts at a time. However, we still consider ourselves civilized. Dad even brings out a box for leftover wrapping paper and tags.

After all of the presents have been thoroughly opened, cards read and reread, and wrapping paper put in its proper place - the trash - we'll turn to the kitchen. It has been a morning without food, so even the kids help set the table while Mom scrambles eggs and whips a previously prepared breakfast pie out of the oven, a long-standing Christmas tradition in our family. The food is enjoyed by all. To add to the festive mood, all gift hats, scarves, and slippers are usually worn during breakfast.

The rest of Christmas day is dedicated to trying out new clothes and video games, putting together doll houses, and watching TV while drinking egg nog, another tradition in my family. It will be a day of pajamas, sugar cookies, and multicolored socks.

And then, Mom will start thinking about when to take down all the gorgeous decorations, Dad will start thinking about bills, my brother will have reached level 20, and I will be thinking that it all went by too fast. But let's not think so far ahead - I've got 23 days to enjoy it.