Just Write {109}

November 4, 2013

I have vivid dreams, every night. I don’t know if they’re in black and white, like people say, about dreams and their muted tones. I don’t remember them like a movie, but a memory. I’m revisited by people from the long ago in my dreams. So often there are people I haven’t seen in years, interacting with me like we’re family. Their faces and voices and the stories we’re playing out are so vivid, I’d bank on neon colors over black and white.

I talked with a friend, standing out in the sun, about watching old videos of our kids. Those same kids played nearby, the boys knocking each other down and laughing and Elsie Jane watching and shriek-giggling and hopping around them. Outdoor toys were scattered all over the driveway. My friend said that she had forgotten exactly how her daughter was at age four, but they just watched a video and her little voice and face came back, vivid–the way she couldn’t say her R’s but kept saying that she was four. Or fow.

That girl on the screen slipped through time and fingers like water. She can say four now, and she isn’t as bouncy.

I wondered if the people my children are right now will come back to me in dreams one day, after they’ve grown even more. Will we live out stories from our past together, behind my eyelids, or will my subconscious make up new adventures with those smaller versions of my family? I hope so. I hope they come back to visit me because they’re slipping. I look forward to what dreams they will live and I will love every stage, but sometimes I already miss them. They are neon walking toward sepia walking toward black and white.

My friend and I stood, hand on hips or arms crossed and watched our children, and corrected them when they were about to inflict each other with something beyond bruises. The sun had me squinting hard and I kept having to stop talking to go keep Elsie from falling off a skateboard. We were connecting and laughing together, talking while our kids ran in circles. There was a chill in the breeze, just a little, and my still flip-flopped feet were baring my terrible un-pedicured toenails. We stayed like that until it was time for dinner and it’s so vivid now, and here to keep.

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This is the 108th installment of Just Write, an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments. {Please see the details here.} I would love to read your freely written words so join me and link up below. You can add the URL of your post at any time. Just be sure it’s a link to your Just Write post, not to your main page, and please don’t link to posts that are not freely written in the spirit of capturing moments–you know, don’t link to how-to posts, lists or sponsored posts. Also, please link back to this post in yours so people know where to go if they’d like to join in.

Please take a moment to visit someone else who has linked up! It’s a really good way to meet new writers and get inspired by the meaning behind their moments. Word? Thank you!



Hey there! I’m over at Mamalode today, which is totally exciting. I wrote about the way it feels when I hear “all they need is love”. I don’t know, I think my children need more.

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