Summer is on the way, beaches are being opened and closed again because apparently people are flocking there with no regard for social distancing, and the school year in my part of the world is finally drawing to a close. We’re settling into the new normal. Or are we?
The profundity of dreams
A friend (a very close friend and co-worker) Skyped me on Saturday morning unexpectedly to tell me to please try to control myself better because she’d spent the night trying to cover for me while I was busy having an affair with the chief executive of BP. She was outraged because I had told her “Don’t worry, it means nothing,” when, she said, it was obvious that we were in love.
Now, I have a great appreciation of dreams, especially the ridiculous ones. I duly appreciated her dream, too, and apologised for being so irresponsible. Then I googled BP’s new CEO because I couldn’t recall how he looked. Apparently, I have a reasonably decent taste in CEOs. My friend’s dream, then, was in a sense flattering. In another sense, it was insulting because I would never ever be so irresponsible, leaving her to do all the work while I hopped hotels (yep, that’s what she said) with my new boyfriend (if I was single, of course. This must be emphasised.)
Her dream reminded me of one I had years ago, in which my husband was openly cheating on me with a girl with an extremely odd name. A deep fear of betrayal, you might think. It’s possible, though in the 20 years I’ve known him, Big C has never given me the slightest reason to doubt him in any way. But whether a dream can be explained in the most obvious way or requires a deeper digging, it always tells us something about us or, in this case, my friend. Such as, I have a wonderful person for a friend, a person who would be there for me even if I’m being outrageously stupid. It’s nice to know, isn’t it?
In music hell
One of my most — and least — favourite episodes of Married with Children is the one when Al had this song stuck in his head and couldn’t remember where he knew it from. It was just a couple of tunes he kept humming all day, repeatedly failing to produce recollection of the original.
It happened to me a month ago, while watching TopGear. The show has a great soundtrack and I’ve often applauded their choice of music but this time I was confused. It was a melody I knew. I knew I knew it from a film I’d seen. What the film was, however, was out of my reach.
I checked Tunefind or some such website that had all TopGear OST by season and episode. It wasn’t there. I wracked my brain again and again for films that were sufficiently apocalyptic and/or dystopian for the melody to fit. I failed miserably. I tried to forget about it but I couldn’t. I became Al Bundy.
And then, two days ago, they played the same melody in another episode of the show. (We’re watching reruns of old seasons.). I went straight to that website and checked this episode. I had little hope because I was sure the universe was conspiring against me. It wanted me to suffer in the throes of music dementia forever. But then I found it and suddenly the world was a better place. I’m setting it as my ring tone. And yes, it was from a film I’ve seen not once but twice, and yes, I’m going to see it again because I’m so happy I found the melody. Yes, you can find a link to the video at the end of this post. I’ve no idea how I could’ve forgotten THIS film right now.
Snake in the grass
Our house is in an area flush with all sorts of fauna and venomous snakes happen to be one of these sorts. We found a viper in the waterpipe collector in the garden a few years ago, which Big C politely evicted with a shovel and then we found a baby viper in the garden a little later, which was Little C’s first encounter with a snake. I was pleased to discover she had no fear of reptiles.
I was equally pleased yesterday, when she went to visit the next door neighbours, and moments after setting off called “Mum, there’s a snake here and I think it’s dead.” No fear. I rushed down the path and sure enough, there was a viper lying in the grass a foot from C’s feet. And yes, it looked dead until I approached it and saw its head was up. I barked at C to stay put and stepped closer wondering if it was possible for a snake to die with its head up.
I stood there over the snake wondering aloud, Little C wondering with me. Then I decided to be cautious and told her to step back. We put some respectable distance between us and the reptile, and I decided to make sure it was dead, head up or not. I threw a rock at its tail. It landed right next to it and I thought I saw its body shudder, which I had to attribute to the rock rather than to life because, honestly, what sort of a snake would just stand there when humans are talking loudly over its head and throwing rocks at its tail?
We went back to the house to get a shovel and clear away the corpse. When we went back there was no corpse. Apparently, the viper was playing dead cat, waiting for us to get the hell out of its hunting ground so it could slither away in peace. It had most definitely not been dead. I shouted an apology for throwing a rock at it.
Little C had a bit of a delayed shock and afterwards walked with extra caution until she found the neighbours’ boys and the three of them came charging up the path, shaking the ground. I expect this, at least, must have had an effect on the snake’s future business plans for the area.
But this experience taught me that snake advice doesn’t always work. Talking loudly? Check. Making general noise? Check. Did the viper acknowledge this? Nope. Could’ve been hard of hearing, I don’t know. But we’re all watching where we’re going now and I no longer need to remind C to put on boots before venturing outside the concrete perimeter around the house. Oh, and it’s so wonderful she didn’t inherit my poor mum’s fear of snakes, of a scale similar to my aversion to locusts. Yeah, I know, I know. Still, I hate them.