I woke up with a shock the other morning.
Actually, the shock didn’t happen right away, because I was thinking about my cool dream of being interviewed for a position as nanny for Justin Trudeau’s kids. (For those not up on Canadian politics, Justin is our Prime Minister.)
The jolt came when I realized that during this interview with Justin and his wife Sophie, I kept asking them to repeat themselves. I was hard of hearing—in my dreams! Then the second shock wave hit:this was unusual! In most of my sleeping adventures, I get what’s being said the first time, every time—no hearing loss. Like most people, my dreams are wacky—for example, I’d be the world’s worst nanny—but at least the Dream-Me communicates more easily than Awake-Me.
Why can I hear more easily in sleepy-land? Is it because deep down, I want my hearing back? (Actually, that’s not so deep down.) Or is it because in the strange world of the brain, I simply don’t need to actually hear words to understand them while sleeping. Or is it simply that I can ‘hear’ in dreamland for the same reason that I can also breathe underwater and fly in the sky merely by flapping my arms?
As I was working on the final draft of my new book, my writing room changed frequently—from our home office to the front seat of the truck pulling our camper through the mountains, at the camper’s dining table as deer munched on grass 20 feet away, in the cottage while everyone else was out in the sun. The Hearing Husband would tactfully push me into my daily writing with, “So, what time are you writing this afternoon? I’ll go for a walk.” Then of course I had to do it, because I couldn’t say “I’m not going to write today” without a good reason. Laziness wasn’t an acceptable excuse, nor was having to feed the baby, who was now 18 and capable of getting the spoon to his mouth all by himself. Or, if he felt I’d been working too hard for too long, hunched over my laptop, he would try to divert my attention. Driving through Yellowstone National Park:
“Look honey, there’s a bear!”
Me (looking up): “Is it Yogi Bear?”
“No, it’s a grizzly! On the hill looking for berries!”
Me (back at computer): “Grizzly, shmizzly. When you see Yogi and Boo Boo, let me know.”