Crazy Dreams #1 & 2

Here in Nevada, Tim has found a friend from work. He has a wife and two kids. They've also moved here temporarily from Kansas.

My first crazy dream was that the wife and kids went back to Wichita for a long visit, and while they were away, the husband's crazy ex-wife came and tried to take over. She tried to move in and pretend like nothing ever happened. This was kind of funny to me, because this couple have been together ever since they were young and in high school. No chance for an ex wife.

I've had countless crazy dreams in between numbers 1 and 2, but I don't remember every bit of them, so there are too many holes. I remember one point, when I belonged to a village, and an evil witch had been impersonating me to do mischief, and I had to prove to everyone that I was really me. (It was a lot like playing Mafia.)

The second dream began when I was working in a room with my old boss, and one of his six children, a boy my age who he affectionately calls "John-boy" Besides regular work, my boss would ask his son, (and me too, in this case) to do spiritual, educational work. He was trying to prepare us for the end times. With each completed task, he would give his son what he called manna, which was just a creamy-white precious metal; some type of currency. I think my pay came in a regular paycheck. One of those such spiritual-educational tasks to prepare us for the end times was to be able to accurately arrange C.S. Lewis's Narnia series in chronological order. This was a little difficult because one of the books was missing a cover, another was written in The Message style, and as we all know, they usually One of those such spiritual-educational tasks to prepare us for the end times was to be able to accurately arrange C.S. Lewis's Narnia series in chronological order. This was a little difficult because they were numbered in the order they were written, one of the books was missing a cover, and another was written in The Message style.

I left the room, and wandered down a hall. To the left, I noticed a long barn-like room filled with about 30 large horse stalls. Out of each stall poked the head of an elephant. At the end of the hall, I entered a larger room. There were some wooden bleachers for seating, and a manure/straw covered fence kept the stands separated from the show: a man swimming in a tank with a hippo, which we all know is a very impressive feat. The fair (or whatever it was) must not have been very busy that day, because so few spectators were there, that they sat on the edge of the hippo tank and dangled their toes in the water. The swimmer called me over by name. "Hey, you're from Kansas, right Grace?" he asked. "Uh, yeah..." I said, edging closer. "You know that song, 'Camptown ladies sing this song, do-dah! Do-dah!' Well, I guess back then, the 'do-dah's' were only put in to cover up the bad language! Bet you didn't know that about Kansas, huh?!"

"Huh." I said, feigning interest, and then I left to return to work. In my locker in the work room, I found a set of purple and black rings. I then remembered telling my boss that they would sell really well. He had asked his ceramics class aid to make them for me! I considered running back to the hippo room to tell the swimmer, but at that moment, I turned around.

For lack of space (probably because of all the elephants) the circus or fair had decided to keep their giant, man-eating crocodile in a large baby crib. The reptile scared me, and I began to notice that because of the changes in the way Joel had been feeding it, that it was learning that it could easily step out of the crib... which it did.

The crocodile moved very slow, and I was able to run up the basement stairs in my parents' house and into the living room. Joel, Dale, and my parents were all sitting there. "The alligator got out!" I shouted. "Here's what we'll do-" my dad started, always the one to have a solution, pulled out a tranquilizer gun. He handed it to me. It didn't look too impressive. It about as small as a .22 or even a bb gun. I held it in my hands and aimed at the door. There, standing in the doorway, was Joel and Paul.

Joel was 2 or 3, the way I remember him from our days before school. Paul was only 4 or 5, like all the childhood pictures. "Guys, move out of the way!" I said, as I quickly moved my gun. I handed the gun back to my dad, and then my mom and I went to see if the crocodile was still in pursuit. The stairs to the basement were strewn with clear packaging bags and silica gel packs from work. We didn't see anything at first, but then the crocodile moved. Apparently, we couldn't see him because his head was stuck in a bag. When he moved, my mom made that sound that we've heard a few times in our lives, when she came across a particularly large snake in a basement bedroom, or when a field mouse ran at her from the pantry.

We ran back to the living room. Everyone jumped on a couch, and pulled our feet up from the floor. As the crocodile came into the room, and my dad aimed, I suddenly realized how small the gun was, and that if he missed, he wouldn't be able to get away in time. I thought of the headline, "Man in Kansas Eaten by Crocodile" and then shouted, "Daddy, don't miss!!"

Just then, he shot a round of pellets at the Croc's forehead. The pellets looked like mini-marshmallows, or mothballs, or possibly those melt-away wedding mints. It was a pathetic show. The pellets bounced off and scattered on the floor, but I knew better than to doubt my dad's inventions. Apparently, each pellet contained a potent tranquilizer that came out upon impact in powder form that instantly absorbed into the reptile's skin. The last shot was a small device with spider-leg spikes that stuck into the crocodile's neck to monitor its unconsciousness.

That was when I woke up.

My New Job

All week I knew there was something from work I was going to write about, but in the end, I forgot it, and wrote down the basics of work.

Specifically, here's what I thought was interesting:

We spent an entire couple days merchandising. Everything had already been set out, at the appropriate tables, and then we re-worked the areas, over and over. We had basic, obvious rules on how to organize merchandise so that everything is balanced and easy to get to. Other than that, it was up to us to make things look good.

I was partnered with one of our managers to fill an armoire. She was very critical about exactly what we would use in our area, and about what should go where, but I didn't mind one bit. My personality is more the type to not care so much about how the earrings are placed, but I knew these high standards would be good for me. I may not have cared, but I still could understand why, and I was often able to suggest much better alternatives.

This isn't at all new to me. In college, my art professors were very good at what they did. They were laid back artists themselves, but they understood that creativity shone best in strict, critical environments. We held weekly critiques about our drawings. Half the time, we may have talked about correct proportions and perspectives, but a lot of our time was devoted to composition. I may have drawn an awful looking shoe, but they would spend more time focusing on why I chose to replicate that particular frame of vision. Why did I put the subject of my picture where I did on my canvas? What I did wasn't as important as why I did it. They constantly challenged us to make defenses for our compositions. "Balance" and "contrast" were always on our tongues. It was important that our work "felt right" to the viewer.

Once again, I found myself in the same environment. This time, instead of canvases, I was given tables, shelves, and fixtures. I no longer had to create objects to put in the space, but I had endless possibilities of combinations of merchandise. My manager and I were constantly asking each other, "What can we put next to this piece to bring out this particular color?" We also had a grid of cubbies to fill with a variety of contrasting merchandise, while still paying attention to its visual balance.

Afterwards, the district manager (who worked alongside us all week to get the store in shape) wanted to come see what I'd done. He was very impressed. I felt embarrassed receiving praise, when I knew it wouldn't have looked as nice without my manager's help. When he pointed out one particular thing he liked, that I knew was all her, I was quick to give her the credit. Later, when my manager returned, she said, "Hey, make sure you're getting credit for the work you do. You should be like, 'Hey! Check out that table; I did that!' Be proud!"

While most girls were hired by our general store manager for their retail experience, I had the chance to interview with the district manager, who was very interested in the concept of visual merchandising. I was lucky to have been hired without experience, but for my studies in the visual arts. I also feel fortunate to have a manager who feels there is money to be made in visual merchandising, and that I can go far.

How likely that may be, is questionable, but it's great to be encouraged, and to know that I'm doing okay at a new job!

Work

Well, I got a job as a charmer...

...don't worry, it's retail.

The store is called Charming Charlie, and it's huge. We all started work last Wednesday, and met in the empty store. There were a few construction guys putting up the last of the chandeliers, but other than that, we faced shelves and tables in the vast room.

The first day, a team from corporate went over several slide shows with us. We stood, or sat on the tile floor. We learned about policies, and the handbook, and what we'd be required to do. We also learned that there really is a Charlie, who started the company. He's very young, and his last name is hard to pronounce.

The first week was a lot of hard work. We had to put up merchandise, and to completely fill an empty store takes a while!

It was a little hard because I worked every day, and Tim and I kept missing each other. I'd wake up and leave before he woke up, and then I'd come home to an empty house, and he'd come back from work after I fell asleep.

Today was our first day open, and I am only part time, so things should slow down after this! I am happy, though, for something productive to do with my time. And I'm happy that I still have free days in the week to work on my painting and to catch up on housework!

AAAAH!

1. Fiancé and best man pick up an application for Marriage.

2. I applied for a marriage certificate.

3. It came in the mail.

4. I got a new social security card in the mail after driving across town to the wrong office, then waiting in a 45 minute line.

5. I had to get a new driver's license that I knew wouldn't last. Turned out, to change your name they can't use your Social Security Card. It HAS to be a marriage license. (Two trips to the DMV.)

6. It expired two months later. After unexplained closings and mechanical failures of the DMV, I finally got another one... which then never arrived in the mail.

7. I got another one.

8. Then I got a military ID. AFTER the machine was fixed, and only once my husband came back to Kansas.

9.I tried to apply for a passport, but needed my marriage license... which was lost. They found the marriage license back home, it came in the mail, and I applied for a passport.

10.A letter from the department of state is hinting that Tim and I may have to re-apply for different forms of a Birth Certificates!

"Champagne makes me all giggly!" ~Monkey Island

"And then I'd throw my sham-pog-nay in his face!" ~Sarah

This Valentine's day, as sort of an extra, spur of the moment gift, Tim brought home a bottle of Champagne. I was only half awake at the time, so I was able to enjoy the surprise all over again in the morning.

I was excited, not because I like champagne (never had it) or any alcohol for that matter. I was excited because I have always wanted to pop the cork off one. Tonight I got my chance! Most of the contents spilled out onto the sidewalk because it was warm and shaken.

Later, the dog had to go out, but on the way in, before I could stop her, she lapped up a few sips from the puddle. She ran back inside, and I told Tim what happened. Right on cue, she started a sneezing fit. Before each sneeze, she would squint her right eye and screw up her face till it resembled Popeye's.

"and I have to take you in for a check up tomorrow... what will they think of me?"