Old haunts, old wastebaskets, and vague-but-vivid dreams about seeing the world (not necessarily in that order)

(I have to be brief because, per usual, I don’t have much time. You might say my free moments come in sound bites these days.)

First, “old wastebaskets.” Well, one. One wastebasket. Today, while rinsing a mustard poop-covered FuzziBunz and leaving it to soak by the utility sink, I realized that I had purchased that particular pink plastic pail in the summer of 1992, anticipating my freshman year of college. And here it is, nearly two decades later, helping me soak my fourth child’s dirty laundry. In the ebb and flow of all the crapola that clutters our middle-class American lives, you never know which stuff’s gonna stick through the years.

Second, world dreams. Maybe it’s because I’m working on an article for my alma mater about alumni living thither and yon. Perhaps it’s because—I confess—I’ve been purposely avoiding excruciating reports of catastrophe and suffering throughout the globe (I already feel too heavy-laden to bear any more burdens than I must). Or maybe it’s because I have been enjoying, vicariously, the youthful adventures of an A-Town college girl currently touring Europe. Whatever the reason, I awoke today with the trail of a vivid, breath-taking, 3-D dream following me into the morning. (Or—ya think?—maybe I just gotta get outta dodge more often than … hardly ever!)

Third, old haunts. A few short years ago I went to see a show at the A-Town Aud. The H.S. Theatre Dept. was presenting Little Women, a wonderful Broadway musical I’d never seen. I wrote about the experience, pre-blog, but I’ve drummed up a way for you to read it here. Meanwhile, the ever-rolling stream rolls on, and last night I sat in the same auditorium, watching in amazement as my own dear daughter took to the stage—and seized it! I felt proud of her performance, but also dazed by my memories. Seeing her hair dangling in long ringlets, her makeup-caked face shining in the spotlight, her black shoes collecting dust from the same wooden floor I once trod … it was a bit like an out-of-body experience. Or another vivid, breath-taking, 3-D dream.