Something Weirdish, This Way, Mums

Val Thevictorian is no stranger to strange dreams. Thursday night I had a doozy, wherein I was touring a special museum, run by my ex-colleague, the Home Ec (heh, heh, she hated that) teacher down at the end of my hall. Homie's museum was in a large VICTORIAN (how fitting, my dream brain has a sense of humor) three-story house.

I can't really describe the collection her museum was devoted to. You know how dreams are. Things may make sense there, but no word exists for it in the waking world. Homie's treasures were some kind of dollies. Not play babies, thought that might also be a dream joke, since Homie gave out the battery-operated crying babies to her parenting classes. But in my dream, the dollies were of the hand truck variety. Used for carting things around.

The most special dolly of all was on the top floor. It was the only one. Made in sections, like a pull-out step-stool thingy. Three sections. It was designed to move PEOPLE like Hannibal Lecter!

I was on the second floor, on my way back down, having completed my tour. I encountered my MOM on the way up.

"Oh, Mom. You've gotta see the one on the top floor. It's the best."

"Okay. I'm on my way."

Homie was running around, directing people and being a font of information for her dolly museum. Mom turned to look over her shoulder as she was headed for the steps. She told Homie,

"I hear you have a really special one on the top floor."

And Homie IGNORED MOM! Didn't answer! Acted like she wasn't even there!

That didn't bother Mom. She went on up anyway. She was never one to take offense.

ANYHOO... that was a weird dream, though not unpleasant. I hadn't dreamed about Mom in a while. Nor thought about Homie, who retired a couple years before I did.

I went on about my Friday. Stopped by the cemetery for about five minutes on my way to the bank to redeem some matured savings bonds Mom left me. The year gets away from me. I mean to do them each month, but I've got a backlog of 11 right now. I've got to take a few at a time, lest the bank tellers get all discombobulated about too many. I also got gas and mailed the boys' letters. Picked up my 44 oz Diet Coke and scratchers.

By Saturday, I'd kinda forgotten about the dream. When I came home from town, the dogs came running, including our new (since July) adoptee Marley, who we've let out of the pen for two weeks. I thought he was adapting well, staying in the yard, near the other dogs, though not interacting so much. Yet this time, a vicious fight ensued between Jack and Marley. I won't go into it here, but it wasn't just a run-of-the-mill test of dominance. It was like a Michael Vick kind of event.

There were two stages to the fight, and I could not get those dogs apart. Again, I'm not delving into it, but by the time it simmered down, and I got up on the porch, headed for the kitchen door, I had blood on my arm. Not mine.

This really shook me up, such violence between my fleabags, and me powerless to control them. Shook me up. As in shaking, as I tried to fit the key in the lock.

Do you see what I see? I'm not talking about the rough, weathered hardware of my kitchen door lock. I mean

THE LADYBUG!

I haven't seen a ladybug in a LOOOOONG time. And now that we're having temperatures at night in the 20s, I sure didn't expect to see this one. Yes, I know that it's technically a beetle, not a bright red ladybug. These orange ones are what we have around here, and we've always called them ladybugs.

I agree that the extreme closeup does this one no favors. Close enough to see its undercarriage in the reflection is, perhaps, too close. Anyhoo, I was so happy to see that ladybug that I calmed right down from my dogfight fright. I set my stuff inside, and took a picture to document my ladybug visit.

Regular readers know that I consider a ladybug a sign from MOM, due to our joke about a horde of them in her house that she refused to exterminate, merely vacuuming them up with her Dustbuster, and letting them go outside. And the fact that I saw one every week, in assorted venues (including crawling on a baby's ear during an Open House visit at school one evening), after Mom died in February 2015.

I'm not a big believer in coincidences.
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OMG! I just clicked to set this for automatic posting, and noticed it will publish on 11/11. Kind of like the 11:11 I've been seeing on the clock over the past few days. I'm not all New-Age-y, or particularly spiritual, or a numerologist...but 11:11 makes me think of Mom, too.
Lots of theories on that 11:11.