Crazy Covid Dreams

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been having crazy covid dreams. But before I get into them, I just want to say, I can’t believe I haven’t blogged since June. My head has been occupied with my latest manuscript (more about that soon). And Robert and I celebrated another anniversary. Love the champagne, courtesy of daughter Karen. Feel very blessed to have someone I love at my side during these challenging times.

I hope you’re all managing. I also hope you haven’t lost anyone you love. So many have, and I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for those who can’t see their loved ones in the last days of their lives. And now the president of the USA and his wife have come down with it. Not surprising, given he doesn’t believe in science and has given out mixed messages from day one.  It’s not a virus to be taken lightly, no matter what your age.

Robert and I practice caution because we want to keep ourselves healthy and those we love around us safe, so it’s imperative that we do what the scientists and doctors tell us to do: practice social distance (2 meters or 6 feet at least), wash my hands often for at least 20 seconds, and wear a mask if we can’t socially distance ourselves. Now, on to my crazy covid dreams.

Covid Dreams

Dream No. 1

A few months back, I dreamt I was, or maybe someone else was, cutting the votes in half, like literally. Imagine a large poster board and someone slicing through that with humungous shears. These shears were slicing through one vote after the other. My country isn’t going through a national election but my American neighbour is. Their politics dominate the news.

Having a dream like that suggest I’m watching too much American news. Why should I care? Well, Canada’s a country of 36 million; our neighbour has 350 million. Because of America’s size and proximity (we share a border, a common language and are each other’s largest trading partner) what happens in the USA affects us. We can’t even travel south right now, not with their Covid19 numbers sky high. Our borders are closed except to essential traffic—like trucks carrying our food, families that have relatives on both sides of the border, and essential workers.

As for voting, I hope more Americans take those rights seriously this time ’round. I recall my baba (Lukia Mazurec) during voting time in Manitoba. She was sick and my mother suggested she stay home rather than go vote. Baba was incensed. She said, “What? They don’t need my vote?” She dragged herself off her bed and went out to vote. Those of you who’ve read Sunflowers Under Fire, based on her life in Russia during WWI, will understand why she got up from her sick bed and voted. It’s all about who you give the power to. I’ve never forgotten that lesson and have never missed a vote.

Dream No. 2

A month later, I dreamt I was somewhere other than home and I saw a friend I hadn’t seen for a while. My immediate impulse was to go hug her, which I did. And then I immediately knew that I’d erred and stepped back profusely apologizing. She was not in my bubble. So, I guess dream no. 2 wasn’t so crazy. It was just disturbing and scary, thinking I could’ve contracted the virus. Most people know that carriers could be asymptomatic, so there’s a reason for caution.

Dream No. 3

This dream had to do with a great novel I was reading. The Light Between Oceans is about a secret a couple keeps, one that is unethical and dangerous. I guess it bothered me so much it stayed in my head when I fell asleep. In my dream, I decided to tell my adult grandson, who I hoped would reveal the secret to those who needed to know. Weird. It’s the first time I ever took a slice of story and played with it in my dreams. But then again, that’s the power of a good story.

Dream No. 4

I dreamt I was in my kitchen and looked out the window and there was a dear, dear friend, a fellow actor from decades ago, who I dearly loved. He committed suicide over a year ago after years of fighting alcoholism. In my dream he was with his wife and smiled at me. And I thought, my God, he’s still alive. How did that happen? I motioned him to come to the other side of the house, to our front door. I wanted to hear his story and find out how he’d managed to still be alive He’d never said good-bye and I was so happy to see him again. Alas, it was just a dream. But a dream filled with love. I guess my heart still aches for him.

Meaning of Dreams

When I look at Dream 1 and Dream 2, I realize the fear of getting Covid is on my mind. I miss my “normal” life. Even though I enjoy my solitary work as a writer, I miss the easy social encounters we’ve had, plus the travel and visiting our family back east.

Dream 3 came about because of the ethical questions the story raised. The lying, the cover-up, when a baby and mother were involved. Much as I loved the portrayal of the main characters in the novel and the fact the storyteller did such a great job pulling us in, I was tormented by the lying and the cover-up. Honesty is a huge value for me.

And Dream 4, well that’s self-explanatory or is it? I hadn’t thought of my friend the day before but maybe I did. As I thought more about it, I recalled that I had phoned our old acting teacher, (the 4th time in the past year) also a good friend, to tell him his former student had died over a year ago, but as before, I had to leave a message. I guess, because of my attempted phone call, my friend’s untimely death stayed in the recesses of my mind and popped up in my dream.

How about you?

Crazy covid dreams or just plain crazy? I’ve always been fascinated by what we dream. My mother and grandmother had dream books they consulted in the morning. Everything they dreamt implied something else. Nothing was straightforward. Dreams aren’t, are they? And when I became a psychotherapist, I often helped clients interpret what their dreams were telling them. Our unconscious gives us clues as to what we’re struggling with, what’s still unfinished business.

On the Writing Front

My manuscript has gone through its umpteenth revision. It’s the sequel to Sunflowers Under Fire and will be published next spring. I’ll say more in my next blog post. Right now, it’s out to some beta readers.

One of my poems, A Torn Leaf was selected for the Art+Earth Festival in Campbell River this year, which means I got paid a nice little sum and my work is now etched on Mercedes Lane Too’s shop window on Shoppers Row.

The poem I did last year, Cedar Sentinels is still up as well. So much fun to see my work displayed so prominently. My dad loved to quote poetry around the house. He’d be thrilled to discover his daughter has some work out there. And thanks to him I gravitated to the art of it.

And during this past summer, I did a guest post for the San Miguel Writers Conference and Literary Festival blog about the positives of the pandemic. Yes, there are some good things that have come out of this terrible time.

On the Marketing Front

After much deliberation, I decided to change the cover of The Rubber Fence. I didn’t think the one I had captured the tone or theme as well as I liked. As well, I hoped to raise the visibility of this story. I’ve had great reviews but with 6 million books out there and counting, I didn’t want it to get lost in the algorhythms of Amazon.

So, I contacted my book cover designer, Ares Jun, who designed the following cover. I love working with him. He’s very collaborative.

The Rubber Fence, a novel set on a psychiatric ward. When Dr. Joanna Bereza tries to stop an arrogant psychiatrist from shocking her patients—a mute young mother accused of trying to kill her baby and a feisty old woman who’s been shocked too many times—she risks not only losing her career but also the love of her life. A seductive intern, who looks more like a rock star than an aspiring shrink, doesn’t help the challenges she faces. Set in the 1970s, this story was inspired by my work on a psychiatric ward.

If you got this far, thanks for reading. Any comments on any of the above are appreciated. Like, have you had any crazy covid dreams?

Stay well and hug those you love.