I grew up a block from the Mississippi River, where it widens to form a lake. Mom would take us agate hunting nearly every day, weather permitting. We couldn't wait for the snow to melt and the ice and flood waters to recede in the spring. We'd walk down to the lake, climb down to the small strip of sandy beach, and walk along the water's edge, peering intently into the water. Agates could be found out of the water too, of course, but they seemed to be easier to spot if they were wet.
It was like a daily treasure hunt, with much squealing and let me see, let me see whenever one was found. Of course, the bigger the better. Most of the ones we found were the size of a quarter or smaller, but occasionally we'd find one bigger, maybe the size of a half-dollar. My oldest brother was the best at finding those. He could walk down to the water, look in and pick one up, just like that. Grrr!
The red ones were my favorite. It seemed I could get lost staring into the translucent stone, with the rings that went deep inside. So pretty.
I bring this up because I have had this recurring dream for years, and had it last night. I am always with a group of people, near the water's edge. I look down and find beautifully ringed, softball- sized agates, three or four of them together. I take a couple of more steps, and there are more. I am nearly beside myself, hauling these agates out of the water, jumping up and down with glee, and none of the people I am with understand what the fuss is about. To me, I have found the greatest treasure there is, and to them, eh, it's just a rock!
Mom was up at 1 am, then I thought I heard her again at 3:30, so I got up, but she was still in bed. Then at 5 am, she fell out of bed. I managed to get her up and back in bed, none the worse for wear. Then at 6:30 ish, a cat started meowing outside of my window. I rolled over to look at the clock, then fell into one of those weird, half sleep/half awake, fitful dreaming states. In the space of fifteen minutes, I had three different dreams, each with a different scenario, but they all involved me trying to keep Mom or another Alzheimer's patient safe( like Genevieve,) and me just sobbing. It seemed like I would "rescue" her from one thing, I would cry, then another scenario would start, and I'd have to "rescue" her again. The last two involved her getting close to the edge of a giant hole created by road construction. (Falling out of bed-like) The last one I was screaming at Paula Deen (WTF?) for getting between Mom and I, with Mom close to the edge of the hole. When I finally woke up for real, I was sobbing. I hate waking up like that. Think the pressure/constant anxiety is getting to me?
I am taking a break. I will take Mom to the Alz Unit this afternoon, and my sister will bring her back here Sunday afternoon. I have an eye appointment tomorrow morning, the headache continues. Have a good weekend.