≡ Menu

Perimenopausal Dream Interpretation

Having had vivid dreams – sometimes two or more per night – every night for about the past twenty years, I am interested in dream interpretation. I’ve come to believe that some of them come straight from the Throne Room of Heaven. When I wake up, I just know. And usually after some prayer, I get the interpretation without having to go to some dream site online and look up symbols.

See, and that’s the problem right there. Some items and people that show up in your dream are random and really have no meaning. The things that do have meaning, well, what they mean depends a lot on what you’re going through in life right now as well as your past experiences. Dreaming of being in an elevator going up might indeed mean that you’re feeling successful, but if you’ve had to ride elevators several times a day for the past week to visit a loved one in the hospital, it could mean something completely different.

With that in mind, I would like to propose what different symbols or concepts in dreams might mean for a perimenopausal woman. I’m totally making the following up, but hey, if the shoe fits…

If a woman in perimenopause dreams that…

…she can’t move her legs when trying to run away, it means she’s having night sweats and the blankets are stuck to her legs.

…a car is chasing her, it means she’s dragging through her day and having trouble keeping up with the daily grind.

…she fails a gymnastics test in high school P.E., it means she better not try to pick up anything glass the entire next day.

…someone’s hitting her over the head with a sledgehammer, it means she has a hormonal migraine coming on.

…she can’t sleep, it probably means she’s actually not dreaming and is lying wide awake, pretending she is dreaming so as to psyche her body out so that she won’t feel completely exhausted in the morning.

Which won’t work, by the way. In case you’re tempted to try it.

…she’s overeating to the point of severe discomfort, she’s going to wake up with acid reflux. Even though her last meal was ten hours ago.

…she’s eating a chocolate cake and chocolate candy bars with gusto, she probably needs to take a magnesium supplement.

…she’s carrying a piano around, she’s going to wake up with hormonally-induced sore joints.

…her face is covered with acne, well, when she wakes up she might not want to look in the mirror.

…a tire is sitting on top of her belly, well, what I said in the last one.

…someone she loves is having a heart attack, she’s going to have heart palpitations later that day.

…she has to go “number two” and can’t find a bathroom, she better be ready to run when she wakes up!

…she’s passionately kissing or making love to someone, her estrogen is up for the first time in three months and she better tell her husband now before her body goes back into s*exual hibernation!

This is only a partial list of how to interpret dreams during perimenopause. I could go on, but then I would fall into “bad taste” land and lose some of my readers’ favor. You’ll understand if you know all about the wide (and wild!) range of perimenopausal symptoms.

Sweet dreams!


The world loves how-to’s, right? And how many other places online will you find step-by-step instructions on how to turn yourself into a goopy glob of grease?

And no, I’m not referring to super-sizing yourself by eating burgers and fries every day for a year. Nor am I talking about how the “cool” guys used to slick their hair back with lard (or whatever) back in the ‘50s and ‘60s.

I’m talking about something I discovered quite by accident the very day I am writing these words. See, I needed an insect repellent. Right now I am in the process of harvesting as many berries as I can from our four goumi bushes. Check out this post on my homesteading blog for more info and a few pictures.

Also happening right now is very humid and hot weather, the kind that makes no-see-ums come out in droves. Or should I say, swarms.

What the heck are no-see-ums?

Excuse me, what? You’ve never heard of a no-see-um?

There’s a picture of one on Wikipedia, here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ceratopogonidae

You can actually see no-see-ums, by the way. They’re not practically microscopic like chiggers. However, you have to look very closely to catch sight of one of those bugs crawling on your skin. And they will look nothing to your naked eye like they do in the Wikipedia photo.

And unlike mosquitoes, they don’t announce their presence. They don’t say, “MEEEEE…MEEEEEEEE…I’M ABOUT TO BITE YOU MEEEEEEE.” No. They just quietly land on your ankle or arm or neck or wherever they find exposed flesh and bite you. Now, it’s not a painful bite, nor does it necessarily cause a raised red bump on your skin that itches for several days without treatment (although it may). But it is an annoying prick that will itch for several minutes afterwards.

And when they’re all over the place like they’ve been here, your blood can be lunch for several no-see-ums at one time.

And this makes harvesting berries – already a lengthy chore – a miserable experience.

My brilliant idea

So I decided to whip up a natural insect repellent and smear it all over myself before I went out to do my goumi harvesting. Two or three years ago I purchased two baby food jars of a substance called BF&C, which stands for “bone, flesh and cartilage.” It’s an herbal concoction purported to aid in the healing of all sorts of wounds and injuries. A local woman makes her own homemade version and sells it, so I thought I’d try it.

Long story short, I never used much because whatever I’d used it for, I didn’t feel like it did much good. So the jars just sat in the bathroom, feeling rejected and all alone.

Until this morning. I believed that the salve consisted of olive oil mixed with herbs, so all I had to do was mix in some citronella essential oil and smear it on my skin and I’d be good to go.


I have good news and bad news. The good news is, I only got two bites this morning. The bad news is, an hour later my skin was still greasy. Olive oil only takes ten to fifteen minutes to absorb into skin, so I knew something was amiss.

I felt like a walking glob of grease.

Two hours, three hours, six hours later as I write this post my skin is still a bit slimy. Much less so than it was at the two-hour point, but still.

So I went online to find out what exactly is in BF&C. I found out here. On that page I just linked to, scroll down the list of ingredients until you get to the last one. See it?



I smeared beeswax all over my arms, legs, and neck this morning. Note the reason beeswax is included in this salve:

The bee’s wax acts by firming up the ointment. It also has properties of its own to create an alkaline condition, keep the area moist…

Keep the area moist. I also know from using beeswax to help make wood more water resistant that it’s sticky. Undoubtedly its incorporation with the olive oil is what made the oil take so much longer to absorb into my skin.

NOTE TO SELF: Thou shalt not smear beeswax all over  your body. Especially when it’s mixed with an oil.

You can if you want, of course, dear reader. But you can’t say I didn’t warn you.

Oh, wait, I promised you a step-by-step how-to, didn’t I? Okay, here goes:

  1. Buy or make some BF&C. Or maybe just melt some beeswax and mix it together with olive oil, say 50-50.
  2. Smear it all over yourself.


And now you really understand what people mean when they say that the Internet is full of useless information. 😉


How To K*i_ll Yourself With A Smoothie

All three of us have two smoothies a day, one for breakfast and one in the afternoon. Unless it’s super-duper cold (like it was a few days this past winter), I keep the Vitamix base in the Tuff Shed and walk back and forth from the shed to the house to blend the smoothies. The reason is that this high-powered blend is loud. I’m talking, loud. Like Steven Tyler singing “Dream On” loud.

Only not quite that ear-splitting.

But I digress. Making two smoothies a day has been the routine for almost two years, so you’d think I’d have it down by now. You’d think I’d be on autopilot as I put the individual ingredients together to make the divine concoctions.

Yesterday, though, I forgot to put the vanilla powder in my strawberry smoothie. I don’t always need vanilla, but sometimes the frozen strawberries are obviously harvested before turning completely ripe which ends up making the smoothie taste more sour than I like. Adding a half teaspoon of vanilla increases the sweetness.

But I forgot yesterday. In a hurry, I suppose. Had to get ready for that hot date. Or make it back to work on time.

Oh, wait, that’s somebody else.

So anyway, there I was, in the Tuff Shed, already blending my smoothie, when I realized I’d left out the vanilla powder. No problem; I’ll just mix it in when I get back into the house. And I did. After pouring my smoothie into a jar, I added the vanilla powder and stirred it up with a spoon. But it didn’t really mix in. Instead, it formed clumps.

Now, why I didn’t put the lid on the jar right then and there and shake everything up well, the world will never know. Nor did I try to break it up with a fork. Instead, I sighed, resigned to consuming a tart smoothie.

I was probably three spoonfuls in when I realized my folly. I shoved the next spoonful into my mouth, began to swallow, and –


You would’ve thought a marble was lodged in my throat by the way I was carrying on. But I almost couldn’t breathe.


I was so thrilled my gag reflex forgot to work and I didn’t puke my guts out. BUT…for about two minutes, I thought I was going to die. Seriously.

I either inhaled an itty bit of the vanilla powder when I took that last spoonful, or the clump landed at the back of my throat and refused to go down. Whatever the cause, I coughed long and loud. Had to go outside to “hock-ptooey” the mucous that was forming at the back of my throat quickly and furiously.

And yes, I did try drinking water. It was no help.

J got worried, and ran outside next to me. “What happened?”


I knew at that moment I was going to live. I could breathe enough to spit out words. When my system finally calmed down, I went back inside, put the stupid lid on the stupid jar, and shook the contents up. Lid off, and…voila! Vanilla powder all mixed in.


Well, there you have it, folks. Today’s Helpful Tip. How to k*i_ll yourself with a smoothie. No need to add poison. No need to make a two-gallon, 10,000 calorie beverage and drink it as fast as you can until you stomach explodes.

No. Just add vanilla powder and mix it in with a spoon. Make sure it doesn’t actually get mixed in, then drink a bit of it down and do what Bill Clinton claims he didn’t do – inhale.


A New, Old Way To Campaign

When you think of political campaigns, what comes to mind? A lot of T.V. and radio ads, maybe. Town hall meetings and debates. Public speeches where the candidate walks around afterwards shaking hands and admiring babies.

Oh, and let’s not forget those all-important mind manipulators: the lawn signs! Yes, many is the person who has voted for a political candidate based on a name being staked in red and white (or blue and white, or mauve and beige, or purple and pink polka dots) on their neighbor’s lawn.

But apparently, that’s not how they do it in southeastern Oklahoma. Actually, maybe it’s a rural South thing in general.

The other day, a pickup pulled into our driveway. Pretty far up. Farther up than even U.P.S. or FedEx dares to tread. And the truck was unfamiliar. Understand, even though the road we live next to is public, it’s gravel and leads to a dead-end at the top of the mountain. While we get an occasional four-wheeler joyriding through, most of the time when a vehicle goes by it’s one of four or five vehicles whose owner we know (or know of).

The majority of the time, however, the road is vacant.

So when this truck pulled up near our house, we knew a stranger had arrived.

J saw the truck first, and went out to see who it was. I looked out the window, perplexed. I was washing a dish or something, and when I finished I dried my hands and went out to see what the deal was. A couple of weeks ago a forestry dude stopped by to let us know he’d be parking on the perimeter of our land to check trees in the neighboring area. Once a guy from the electric company came to see if any trees under or near the power lines were getting out of hand.

So when somebody unfamiliar drives into our driveway, who knows who it might be? Could even be – get ready – Jehovah’s Witnesses!

However, as I opened the door I saw only one guy, so it wasn’t them. Or Mormons. He was dressed in quintessential rural South garb – cowboy hat, boots, jeans, even a longish mustache. He had handed J something and was just leaving as I came up.

He greeted me, calling me, “Ma’am”, which made me want to go dye my hair gray and get me a pair of rusty knitting needles.

A couple of seconds later, he was in his truck and backing out of the driveway.

“Who was that?” I asked my husband, who held a small piece of paper in his hand.

He handed me the paper. “Somebody running for county commissioner.”

Sure enough. It was a note-card sized campaign pieces that said, “Let’s Do This – John Doe for County Comissioner.” And he’d even driven all the way up to the top of the mountain to see the one guy who lives up there full time.

All righty, then. Kinda puts a new spin on the phrase “campaign trail”, don’t ya think?


What They Say About The Word “Assume”

I usually avoid the word “evolve”. In fact, I probably should have included it in this post about overused words.

But I’m going to use it now.

Since we moved into our small (576 square feet) earth-sheltered house two years ago, our family’s needs have evolved.

There. Do I get a gold star for putting the vocabulary word in a sentence?

What do I mean by our needs having evolved? Well, two years ago, I didn’t realize that the sun would stream into our south-facing windows all fall and winter long. I mean, of course after forty-some years of life on earth I know that the sun is lower in the sky during the winter, and that the sunlight comes in deeper into the house.

But I didn’t know that the rays would be annoying fifteen feet away on the opposite side of the house or that even in summer the light outside the windows would cause a glare on the computer screen.

So I need to move my computer desk.

Two years ago, I didn’t realize B would be getting a computer a year later. Because we didn’t have his room set up with a desk, we had to put it against the wall in the living room area.

Bye-bye, cozy living room area where I could sit in my rocking chair and escape from looking at a computer screen.

I want it back.

So the other night, armed with a ruler and yardstick, I drew up a grid and began to experiment with different furniture arrangements on paper. I would have to change out the five-foot long desk for the three-foot long one J recently made for me to have in the Tuff Shed, that was for sure. I tried putting the two desks right together, and the living room area next to it. But then I would have to take the coat closet out of the corner and stick it against the wall opposite the exterior door, becoming the focal point of the room when you entered the house.

Or I could do it this way…no, not nearly enough room for the two living room chairs.

How about that way? That would look weird.

I drew and erased, drew and erased, drew and erased. Asked J for some input.

Finally, I got so frustrated that I got loud enough about it that B asked what my problem was. I told him that I was trying to figure out how to rearrange furniture, and somehow ended up telling him that the long desk he was using for his computer was going to end up back in the shed.

Misunderstanding, he began to remind me that he didn’t want to put his computer on the little-kid table in his room because it was too low (which I had him try last year when he first got his computer). I told him that he was going to use the new table, and we were going to paint it.

At this, his eyes opened wide. “Oh, let’s paint it red!”

I frowned. “If you want it all red, it’s going to have to be in your room.”

“I don’t care! Let’s paint it red!”

If B sets up in his room, all I’ll have to do is move my pretty white-with-black-trim desk over to where the ugly five-foot computer desk is now. I’ll tweak the locations of all the bookcases (two tall and two short) and move a couple of other smaller pieces, but that will be easy, and cut and dry.

All that drawing and erasing, all those mental acrobatics, for nothing. Just because I didn’t ask B up front if he would mind being in his room if he had the right-sized table.

You know what they say about the word “assume.” Except I’m the only looking like a donkey here.