Last night I dreamt of Liberia. Only it was a more secure, comfortable Liberia, with a deep blue roiling ocean and thick sandy beaches that dropped - before the water - impossibly like cliffs. I was a tourist. My dad was there. I was leading my fellow travellers (more than just Dad) across the bridge from Monrovia, (not the real bridge or even the real Monrovia) we checked into a hotel, and went to the ocean. I talked self-importantly about "the last time I had been in West Africa", and then dove in. As the bright blue waves tossed me, I realized for the first time I was wearing a life jacket. And I was so ashamed to be the only loser wearing a life jacket, I discard it, even though I feared those steep, thick sandy cliff-beaches, and doubted I could ever make it onto the beach again.
Does this hold any significance? Does it reveal my deepest, darkest nature? Or could it just be that I have been dreaming of beaches as we consider a Central American holiday, and Liberia happened to feature the most beautiful beach I have experienced?
I wonder. Really. I spent hours in a dreamscape West African nation. But I digress. The above is really only rhetorical self-amusement.
I have learned more Swedish words. And effectively rewritten parts of the Oompa Loompa song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. No, I am not still writing about whacked out dreams. I discovered that the words "sock" and "butt" rhyme in Swedish, AND, how handy, they rhyme with "oompa" and "loompa". I love it, because a silly (favourite) song of mine now has whole new meanings which just a few words incorporated. Of course, it makes just as little sense as it ever did. Still, I began to sing it repeatedly around my niece and nephews, and after they watched the original, English version of the movie two times, boy, were we ever singing the Oompa Loompa song. I loved it. I think they may have, as well.
It made me sad to see our family off to Sweden - especially our niece and nephews because it seems like so much will change in a short time. But it was definitely a fantastic experience to have our family -- my "new" family -- here, to hang out and get to know each other. And there were hardly any fights. Except over the monkey in my car. That monkey (I just called it "dirty monkey" until Evelyn named him a Swedish name I can never remember) caused a fight every time he was in the backseat. Eventually they agreed to hang him from the seatbelt and that seemed agreeable to all parties. Including me and Martin, who was running interference.
Now I just have a silly swinging monkey on the commute to work and it's not nearly as charming as three fun, blonde bundles of energy. Hm. Speaking of energy, I am going to go bust out some whitegirl livingroom hiphop. That should be fun.