Weird Robot Baby

Someone at work this morning brought up the subject of dreams. She said that she had a “weird” dream last night, which turned out to be a nightmare of sorts that involved an aspect of her job and her supervisor. The adjective “weird” threw me a little, as a “weird” dream for me is something a little different than anxiety about my job translated into dream form.


For instance, one of my own dreams last night concerned a married couple that I know, who for some reason were living in my old high school. (?) The baby (which is not, in real life, due until the autumn) had already been born, and I was visiting them. After I saw the baby (who had no teeth and couldn’t walk but was already speaking in complete sentences like Stewie on The Family Guy), I realized that (gasp!) he was a robot child. I didn’t see any wires or anything, but the kid knew that I knew. At first, I tried to hide this fact from my friends, but as the kid got weirder (and after I discovered his owner’s manual and remote control in a box shoved in a corner of the gym), I tried to warn my friends about him. Understandably, they got mad and told me to leave. As I walked out of my old freshman English classroom, I turned around. My friends’ backs were to me, but the robot kid peeked over one of their shoulders and smiled toothlessly and evilly. I woke up.

I’m sure there are all sorts of psychobabble explanations that could decipher that dream, but I choose to think that I have a tiny, tiny file clerk inside my brain who runs around at night, desperately trying to organize my head files before I wake up. My dreams are just different files getting pulled from one place and re-filed in another. If I tried to interpret every one of the dreams I have, there’d be no room for anything else in my life. (Especially the dream about the room with thousands of pictures of oranges taped to the walls, or the one where I was sitting on a walrus in some kind of circus act … I had a spangly outfit on in that one, with a big headdress. Awesome.)

But … the robot baby example is a completely normal specimen of dream for me. Am I wacko? I was always under the impression that most people’s dreams were like mine – a jumble of things and places and people that are in their heads and get let out of their cages to dance around together while they’re sleeping. My co-worker’s explanation of her own “weird” dream makes me re-think that conclusion!

Does anyone else have the wacky dreams regularly? By this, I mean – without eating spicy foods or being sleep-deprived or taking loopy drugs, do any of you dream vividly and frequently? Outside of my family, I’ve never really asked anyone about this, and I wonder. I don’t often have lingering visual memories of my dreams, but it’s pretty common for a feeling or phrase someone said in it to stay with me until I next go to sleep, or sometimes through several days. I guess I thought that was how it worked for everybody.
Drop me a comment and tell me, do you dream of tiny purple doughnuts and tap-dancing tigers? Of everyday places, people, and things? Or do you simply never remember your dreams?

U.S. versus France, Final Tally

I’ve put off continuing my blog for months and months. Life has brightened up for me considerably since my somewhat ignominious return to the States back in November … enjoying my old job, reconnecting with friends and family, moving into my own place again, and mostly just … healing. My blog was sort of tied up in all of that “over there” stuff. I avoided thinking about it because I wrote it in such hope and with enthusiasm and optimism, and somehow, it all came falling down around my ears. I wasn’t ready to face that.

People have been asking me since I returned, “When are you going to start blogging again?” I was, and am, flattered by the positive responses to my writing – I guess we are all our own worst critics, right? I am surprised that so many of you have enjoyed reading about my travails and travels, and it’s given me food for thought over the past months. But – I still wasn’t ready.

Then, recently, another thought popped into my head. It’s a mean thought, a petty thought, and one might even say a childish thought … but it kept returning to me. It is simply this: my husband hated my blog. He thought that I used it to hide my unhappiness and that it was offensive to French people. (I’m not sure that he fully understands that blogs are about one person’s point of view and opinion, but we’ll let that go. Let’s concentrate on the important thing here.) The point is – he hated it, and I’ve spent all these months feeling powerless, like there was nothing I could do to assert myself because he had already made all the decisions, and, after all, we’re not in contact and I suspect he could care less if I flung myself off of a bridge or paraded naked through a biker bar … but there is something I can do. I can write.

Not about his faults, or my unhappiness, or the flaming conflagration that was our marriage – those things just are there, and a lot of them are private. But I can continue to write about my opinions and my views and my observations on the world around me. I don’t need to feel half-ashamed as I write this, thinking about what he will think of it when he reads it later, because A) he probably won’t ever read this again, and B) even if he did – his opinions and emotions are no longer something upon which my happiness depends. Ah! The freedom!

So, in an attempt to exorcise the demon, so to speak, I’ve prepared for all of you a little list showing the results – in my opinion – of France versus the U.S. in several broad categories (with commentary, of course). Enjoy it and thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for reading. 

U.S Versus France - A Short List

FOOD: It's a draw

France is an eye-opener, in terms of food, for the American eater. If you're adventurous (which I am, in terms of food!) and you love simple, fresh tastes, France satisfies on many levels. I have never had so many kinds of cheese in my life, and the bread is, quite simply, a revelation. The French adhere to the "eat what's in season" mantra, and the result is fruits and veggies that are at their peak, always. Wholesome, uncomplicated tastes - and I had the added benefit of a weekly farmer's market literally on my front stoop. (And seriously, I miss pate ... deeply.)

What the U.S. has going for it is, simply put, variety. In Orlando, I can go out to restaurants in almost every imaginable cuisine, and at my local Publix I can purchase produce from around the world. Do I feel like trying a starfruit? Do I want to make a Mexican fiesta in my own kitchen? Here, I can do that, whenever I want. Is it in season? Who cares! I can almost always find the ingredients I need to make any strange recipe I choose. In France? Couldn't make my salsa there, folks. A sad thing, indeed.

TRANSPORTATION: France wins this one, hands down

I don't care if there are tolls every 30 kilometers - France's road system is a joy to drive on. Once you figure out the road signs, you're golden. Immaculately maintained and dotted with delightful rest stops that promise CLEAN toilets, hot coffee, gas, and a place for you to picnic or let your dog out to poop ... the French have cornered the market on pleasant roadways. And if you don't want to drive? You don't have to! In all but the most remote places, the train station is nearby, and the major cities are connected by the wondrous thing that is high-speed rail. The U.S. could take some notes - we have way too many people driving way too many cars, for serious.

HOSPITALITY: Different, but the same. A winner in both nations

People always seem to fall back on the generalization, "The French - they're so rude!" Pardonnez-moi, but that was not my experience at all. I met many people in France, from different backgrounds and areas, and not only was I welcomed (with my sub-par language skills) by them, but I was invited into their homes and their lives with great grace and friendliness. I will never be done saying "thank you" to several people I met last year, people who made me feel like I wasn't just some ridiculous foreigner. 

In the U.S., most of us are automatically friendly, which can lead other cultures to think us guilty of some level of superficiality. I choose to think, instead, that we were all of us from "somewhere else" not so many generations ago, and our national character is one of inclusion, not exclusion. I know that's idealistic, but we are a pretty welcoming bunch, on the whole. Just remember that, sometime in the future, you may be the odd man out. Act accordingly.

LEISURE: Um, this one goes to my native land
This is kind of an unfair category, because I went from living in a suburban/urban setting here to a rural setting in France. But I have to be who I am, and the leisure activities of the French mystify me. First of all, everyone rides bikes. Like, a lot. (Well, not everyone, probably, but an awful lot do.) It is not my idea of a grand time to bike fifteen miles just "for the fun of it".  And they love the outdoors. So do I, when it comes down to it - but mostly when looking out a window at it, or when sitting on a comfy chaise by the pool. The French want to be out in the air - especially when it's warm - and they look askance at you if you say you'd prefer to sit inside and read this really good book, thanks. I think the U.S. wins this one simply because I'm a city mouse. Perhaps if I'd lived first in, say, Montana, then fun in the French mountains would have been delightful.

I could go on for pages, but I think my first blog after my hiatus has gone on long enough. Leave me a comment, and let me know if you have suggestions for future topics. I'm open to suggestions!