“...Go on! Tell me how you collect dreams! Tell me everything.”
        The BFG settled himself comfortably in his chair and crossed his legs. “Dreams,” he said, “is very mysterious things. They is floating around in the air like little wispy-misty bubbles. And all the time they is searching for sleeping people.”
                                                                                                        from The BFG
                                                                                                          by Roald Dahl
                                                                                          illustrated by Quentin Blake
                                                                                      Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 1982
       We all know where dreams come from. Something happens during the day that we forget about, then at night, asleep, a dream comes. It can start out seeming ordinary, but usually takes a veer off toward weird. That’s imagination. One time my dream was a literal interpretation of a common expression I heard and thought about.
       I took a class not too long ago called “LaShone HaRah,” Hebrew for Evil Speech. The object, of course, is to teach ourselves not to engage in that behavior. It hurts the person being talked about, the person telling the tale, and the person doing the listening, too. In my dream, I struggled to put out a fire in my ears. They were literally on fire! Maybe I felt like the object of a rumor. My ears were burning.
This explanation is pretty different from the BFG’s understanding. I like his way of explaining dreams (the night kind and maybe even the day kind) floating around looking for the right person to visit.
       When I was young, I dreamed of being a famous writer. I made up lots of bad stories and wrote original, angsty poetry. When I signed my name on a homework paper or spelling test, I imagined myself autographing a best-selling novel. Always in front of a huge line of fans. In my imagination I was important. Someone once told me that a goal is a dream with a deadline. So my girl-dreams are becoming goals. I’m setting my own deadlines. Daydreams are important.
       Night dreams are important, too. They say dreams help us work out problems and troubles. Trouble is, for me, at least, I often don’t remember my dreams so I have to trust that my dreaming self is taking care of things for me.
       The BFG is coming to the big screen on Friday. It’s about dreams. The BFG is a dream-blowing giant. He is the vehicle our dreams use to find us. It’s also about trust and friendship, things that we can’t see, but know are there. It’s about having courage and smarts to make a plan and follow through.
       Kinda like our Founding Fathers? Their and our best dreams will come true with a good plan, good people to carry it out, and trust in the forces of good that we can’t see. A deadline couldn’t hurt, either.
​
                                                                   --stay curious!

       A couple of days ago I heard a radio story about distributing the remaining items housed in Hangar 17 of the JFK airport. They are the last remnants of the World Trade Center. Civic and non-profit organizations applied to receive an item, maybe a twisted piece of steel or a piece of rail from the train that traveled beneath the buildings. A representative from the organization promised to make the item available for public viewing. There may have been other requirements. Now the hangar is almost empty. The last of almost 25,000 items will be gone by the end of the year.
       That story got me thinking about stuff. Some people elevate stuff by attaching memories to it. Some people don't. I learned to be practical from my mom. She didn’t set store by holding onto stuff. I kept her sweat suit. When I put it on, I feel like she’s giving me a hug. I’ve managed to keep a few of her plants alive. I still drink my coffee every morning from the cup I used at her house. That’s all.
       Mom and Dad didn’t take many pictures after we grew out of our cute, baby stages. I don’t take many pictures either. My mind’s eye is pretty good, though. My memories feel like snapshots. The image starts a short scene. Sometimes a smell triggers a memory. Sometimes I hear a familiar accent that reminds me of my grandparents and my great-grandma. And songs, of course.
       I remember where I was when the towers came down. That’s part of being American. I don’t need to look at a picture.
       When Phillipe Petit made his famous walk in 1974, I was a busy newlywed. My ex-husband had just graduated from college. He started his first “real” job and we had our own home, but no kids yet. We were on the way to making our own memories. Some good, some not so good. But all saved in my mind’s eye.
                                                                   --stay curious!

“Once upon a time,” I say, “there was a baby elephant. She was smart and brave, and she needed to go to a place called a zoo.”
“What’s a zoo?” asks Ruby.
“A zoo, Ruby, is a place where humans make amends. A good zoo is a place where humans care for animals and keep them safe.”
“Did the baby elephant get to the zoo?” Ruby asks softly.
I don’t answer right away. “Yes,” I say at last.
“How did she get there?” Ruby asks.
“She had a friend,” I say. “A friend who made a promise.”
                                                        by Katherine Applegate
                                              illustrations by Patricia Castelao
                                                                    Harper, 2012

       I like my rose-colored glasses. They help me see just what I want to see, but not always what is really in front of me.  The One and Only Ivan is the story of a Silverback Western Lowland Gorilla. He was captured when he was a baby and bought by a guy who raised him like a baby and child until he got too big for all that. Then he took Ivan to a shopping mall with a circus theme. Ivan lived in a small “domain” and performed in three shows every day, 365 days a year. This part is a true story. The rest of the book is fiction, but we get to understand a little bit, of Ivan’s point of view.
       He knows zoos protect animals. He knows they are better places than his small “domain” in a shopping mall. His fictional goal is to get Ruby, a baby elephant and new member of the circus/mall, into the zoo.
       The real Ivan was donated to Zoo Atlanta in 1994 by the shopping mall owner. Ivan was much revered at the zoo by keepers and visitors alike. He passed away in August, 2012, when he was 50 years old. You can see his obituary here. http://www.zooatlanta.org/home/article_content/zoo_mourns_ivan
       My feelings are still very mixed about what happened at the Cincinnati Zoo. The mother was not wrong. The zookeeper was not wrong. An ocean difference separates “not wrong” from “right.” The little boy was acting like a little boy. Harambe was acting like a 400 pound gorilla. And nothing is “not wrong” with this tragic picture. But, I’m not sure any part of it is “right” either.
       I will continue to visit zoos. My connection with animals is fostered by being able to see exotic, endangered, even dangerous animals. And imagine interacting with them, respecting them, encouraging their ability to continue their earthly existence.  
       I know there is a difference between being optimistic and being foolish. Realistic, too. That  has always been hardest of all for me to see. So what do we do with Harambe and this little boy? I'm still thinking.
                                                                  --stay curious!
About Orlando--
I never intended this to be a place for politics and my emotions are too raw to see past my anger and sadness. So for now, I'm sending prayers of recovery to the victims still alive and prayers for peace for those who were murdered. Prayers of hope for the future go to the families and our country, wisdom and courage to our political and civil leaders.
​Thanks for listening. 
                                                                                       

"What-is-wrong?” Bot asked.
The boy did not answer.
“Did-you-malfunction?” Bot asked.
The boy still did not answer. “I-must-help-him,” Bot said.
He took the boy home.
Bot gave him oil.
He read the boy an instruction manual.
He was bringing him a spare battery
when the Inventor walked in.
                            from: Boy + Bot
                        by Ame Dyckman
                            illustrated by Dan Yaccarino
       Today is my blog’s anniversary. I type on a laptop and publish with a mouse-click into cyberspace. I like to write with a pencil, though.
       I read books on my iPad. But I like paper pages. And I really love to go to the library. The shelves and shelves of books remind me of how many different ideas are in the world. My favorite place is among the books and magazines.
      Oh, or maybe on a warm beach, on my back watching clouds puff past. Oh, or maybe in my backyard, first thing in the morning, steaming mug of coffee in hand, drunk with the scent of my lilac bush.
      And what about speed? Does e-mail move at the speed of light? It seems so to me. Once you hit the “send” button, there’s no turning back. Kinda like words. 
       The other night I watched that movie about Steve Jobs with Michael Fassbender, Kate Winslet, and Seth Rogan on a DVD from the library. It seemed like Steve Jobs knew what people wanted before they could even articulate their needs. Not too many people have single-handedly changed the world like that. Johannes Gutenberg, Nikola Tesla and Thomas Edison come to mind. And Henry Ford. And great thinkers who changed everything: Sir Isaac Newton, Charles Darwin, Albert Einstein, and the guy (or gal) who invented the wheel.
       Sometimes I feel myself rebelling against the immediacy, the constant connections, the intrusive newsfeeds, the relentless demands I put onto myself. Who can really keep up with e-mail? Is 282 an unrealistic number? Even when only 19 are “unread”?
       But I love the technology-way of staying connected to all of you. One click and I’m in over one hundred in-boxes! I love the technology-way of talking to my grandkids (and kids). We can actually see each other! I love having answers at my literal fingertips. I can Google everything, anytime.
      Last June 9th, I promised myself I’d post something interesting every Tuesday morning. I’ve done that, at least I hope about the interesting part.
      Thank you all for reading, commenting, laughing, pausing, thinking, talking, suggesting ideas, filling in blanks, encouraging me. . .
      Here’s to next week, the start of a new year!
                                                                   --stay curious!