Of Dreams and Yearnings

i was at a farmer's market pushing an empty shopping cart. that must be from Food Inc. The producers recommended that we shop at local farmer's markets rather than at large supermarket chains.

there were samples for tasting in the bread aisles. i tried the babka and it was mildly sweet. that must be from looking through the bread section in McCall's Cooking School manual before i went to bed.

i looked in all the bread bins but there were no babkas left. somebody said they must be sold out. that must be from work. anything that goes on sale on friday is sold out by sunday.

someone came up to me from behind and grasped my shoulders. i didn't know who it was but i let her hug me and touch her cheek to mine. i felt the familiar softness of my mom's skin. i smelled the gentle perfume of her night time lotion. i felt my chest squeezed by how much i miss her. this must be from reading a text message from her the day before.

i don't know who this person is but she feels just like Mama so i let her hold me.

i turned around and it was her. Mama. between sobs and tears she tells me that everyone is back. we walk arm in arm down the street. my twenty-nine year old sister at age twenty came towards us. her husband and daughter doesn't exist and her cheeks had the blush that only innocence can give.

the men of our family waited by the car. it's a familiar scene. it's one of those nights when we're just returning from a special dinner somewhere. everybody is satiated and longing for bed but reluctant to bring the evening to an end. we jostle into the backseat, hear the engine hum to life and doze to my parents' quite conversation on the drive home.

this distant memory of a childhood ritual somehow made it into my dream last night.

Furniture

I assembled some furniture this week. Three five-tiered bookcases and a two-tiered shoe rack, to be exact. It's amazing how liberating such a simple task can make you feel.

I attacked the first bookcase with much anxiety and an overdose of attention to detail. I read and reread the instructions. I checked and cross-checked the diagrams to make sure I had all the pieces in the right position and that I used the right screws. My throat was dry and my heart palpitated as if I was going on stage. It's ridiculous how afraid I am of making mistakes.

The second bookcase was less of a challenge. I was familiar with all the pieces and how they fit together. I tried different maneuvers to see if the task could be made easier. It was a right decision in some instances, wrong in others. No matter. I told myself that perfection is for God. We humans settle for a lot less.

The third bookcase was a breeze. I hardly glanced at the instruction sheet. The wrong maneuvers were avoided, the right ones were repeated. My fingertips were sore and red. My pyjamas were covered in wood dust and wood chips. The bookcases seemed to be leaning against one another.

No matter.

I have assembled three bookcases all on my own. Now I feel as if there's no limit to what I can do with my little orange screw driver.