Bananas and Bad Dreams, part 1

The other day I found this recipe for banana muffins. I've made 2 batches in one week and have already eaten 3 from the last batch. They are quite tasty and homey and very comforting with a glass of milk and are, for me, pure comfort food. Makes you wonder how the banana, a tropical fruit, became an American staple. I mean our story is about apple pie, not banana cream, yet nothing says soothing goodness like banana nut bread, warm from the oven, slathered in butter. Am I right?

My mom used to feed us bananas sliced up in a bowl of milk. I'm not sure why. For growing pains perhaps, all that potassium and calcium? I don't remember, but regardless of the original intent what it became to me was the quintessential comfort food.

I remember once I was babysitting and one of the kids had fallen asleep on the couch. I woke her up and pointed her toward bed, halfway there she began screaming like she was on fire! I grabbed her trying to figure out what was wrong. She just looked past me and continued to scream and scream. It was horrible. In an act of desperation I gave her a shake and she finally looked at me, collapsed into my arms, and began to cry. She had been having a waking nightmare- walking around with her eyes open, but still caught in her dreaming brain. Needless to say we were all pretty shook up. We scrapped bedtime and went upstairs to the kitchen for some bananas and milk. We all needed a little comfort.

I, unlike some people, do not have cool dreams or if I do I don't remember them. In fact, as a general rule I don't remember ANY of my dreams, cool, horrible, weird, or lame. They all, usually, evaporate with consciousness... usually. About two years ago I had the most horrible dream of my life. I woke up in a cold sweat, sick to my stomach, and too freaked out to be comforted by a good ol' bowl of bananas and milk, a muffin, or anything.





I'm in an orphanage. I grew up here and have recently come back to be on staff and work with the children. I'm in the dormitory with the children and it's rapidly becoming dark and we're all frantically trying to move all the beds into the center of the room. I'm giving instruction to this child and that, "get that bed." "Move these together like this." "Hurry, it's getting dark!" I have it in my brain that we must make one giant bed out of all the beds, fit them together, make a place where we can all huddle together and be safe, but it must be done before dark. The children scramble around in the darkening room and I push and shove at the beds worrying there won't be time.

In walks Lilith or as some of you may know her: Bebe Nuewirth. In my dream she's simply Lilith, not an actress and not the character known as Lilith that she portrayed on Cheers and Frasier, but just Lilith, my childhood friend. We grew up here together and she's one of my closest friends and the orphanage administrator. She got me this job, something she reminds me of as she points out what a lousy job I'm doing. I'm scaring the children she says.

I remind her that the children have reason to be scared and it's not because of me. Horrible things have happened here. I know, I grew up here, I remember. Lilith says all those things were a long time ago and were blown out of proportion by our juvenile brains. I should know better she gently scolds. She continues to talk, making me feel foolish. She's the administrator of this facility now and would she, my dearest, oldest, bestest friend allow anything horrible to happen while she's in charge? She's gracious and smart, sophisticated and intelligent and I feel awful for adding to the children's panic and doubting my amazing friend. I stare at my shoes in shame.

"So a few children died," she says.

I nod, saddened by the memories.

"It happens," she whispers sounding, likewise, sad. And I know she's right. Children die sometimes. It's a terrible fact.

"So a few children got eaten."

My head snaps up. She smiles at me, but she's no longer my dear, elegant, life long friend. Her face has changed and twisted.

She's a demon.

I grab her head and begin to pray. I don't know what to pray I just know: I can't stop.





I woke up then. I could still feel her head between my hands, where my fingers had dug into her ears. If I stop and think about it, I can feel it still.

The dream rode around with me for a few days before I told Chris about it. By then it had lost some of it's alarm and just became "Beth's Creepy Dream". He agreed it was frightening- no wonder I remembered it! And that was that or so I thought. A few days later he told me that in curiosity he Googled: Lilith. She turns up in many old legends, across various cultures. Turns out that Jewish mystism holds that she was Adams first wife and that she left him to become the mother of demons. Some accounts say that in bitterness she seeks to destroy human children, she strangles them or EATS THEM WHILE THEY SLEEP!

Chris wondered: what if my dream wasn't an ordinary dream? What if my sleeping mind saw Lilith and put the face of the only Lilith I knew upon her, hence ol' Bebe? Scrabbling to push beds together before dark because children died in the night, children had been eaten in the night? Dream and legend sync up in alarming ways.

Muffin anyone? Bowl of bananas and milk? Go ahead, get some. I'll wait.

Heh.

Forget Food Network, I'm thinking South Park. Respect my cooking author-i-tay!!!

Make me laugh. Make your own.

God Bless America

Oh, say can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! O long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wiped out their foul footstep's pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Happy Independence Day!

Roll Out!

English composition, such a boring class. Had I taken the AP exams I coulda avoided it, but I didn't think I was going to go to college so what was the point? But Mom insisted so I spent the entire semester of my freshman year slogging through the monotony while sitting behind a massive dude named Brian.

Brian was big as a house. He was, in fact, so large that the teacher rarely noticed me sitting behind him. Don't misunderstand me; there was no fat on the man. Brian was a wall of muscle and not in a body building, oil-me-up kinda way, but rather a 6'3" broad shouldered brick privy way. He rode a motorcycle and would often wear full leathers and steel-toed boots to class, but for all his Terminator looks he was really just a big teddy bear. A single dad, trying to get his Criminal Justice degree and do the best he could by his kid.

Anyway, Brian had a tattoo (of course). It would peek out from under his sleeve and stopped just above his elbow. I stared at it all semester long and wondered what it could be because for the life of me I could not figure it out. Finally, on the last day of class I worked up the courage to ask if I could see it. Brian smiled sheepishly and lifted his sleeve.

It couldn't have been cheap. It was massive, covering his shoulder and bicep in full color. There, arms stretched above his head in victory, was Optimus Prime. "My daughter likes Transformers," he said. Whatever dude, your daughter's too young to know what Transformers are, I thought (by that time Transformers had been cancelled for at least two years). "You like Transformers," I said.

And why shouldn't he?!?

Matt, and the boys, and I have been looking forward to the movie coming out with drooling anticipation. Tonight was opening night and we were there ready and waiting to be blown away. It did not disappoint.

It was action and nostalgia packed start to finish. Couldn't tell you what thrilled me more- how true they remained to the characters I loved as a kid or how simply bitchin' the effects were, because damn! Never once did I stop to marvel at the CG, I was too caught up in the action and the story and squealing and bouncing up and down in my seat every time a character let fly a signature line. I truly can't remember a movie I enjoyed this much in a long time. I giggled, gasped, and cheered my way through the entire 2 hours.

Even if you weren't a fan like I was of the series, even if you've never laid eyes on the cheesy 80's cartoon, I'd still urge you to see the movie. It is this summers blockbuster hit and its scale must really be seen in the theater to be appreciated. It is chock-a-block with testosterone- cars, gadgets, soliders, weapons, bathroom humor, and robots who move like ninjas. And watching Optimus Prime and Bone Crusher go at each other on the freeway (kick ass!) worth the price alone.

Go see it. You won't regret it, hell; it might even be worth getting inked.