Recurring Nightmare Before Christmas

Deb: I know that the most boring thing in the world is when people talk about their dreams. I hope we agree that I have acknowledged that and we can all move past our prejudices on that subject.

I have the same dream every year of my adult life in the months of November and December, and I had my first of the year last night. I dream that it is Christmas Eve day. We are just leaving our annual club sandwich and martini brunch with our friends and suddenly I realize that I have not shopped for anyone. I look at Colin in horror, heart pounding, and exclaim through tears that I have forgotten to shop. I explain to him that he will be getting nothing, my parents will be getting nothing, Luke will be getting nothing, and I am shaking with regret and panic.

In last night’s episode, Colin stayed calm (what else is new?) and he suggested splitting the list in half and hitting the mall until we were done. As dreams are wont to do, suddenly it is—not 2pm when our five-minute exchange began—but the more ever-pressing 5pm. That leaves us with an hour to do all we need to do, including filling stockings! My husband tells me in stoic tones that he doesn’t need anything and that I should not bother about his gifts, but of course that is out of the question. Even the dream question. The dream ends as I am riding up the elevator, pea green with envy at the purchase laden shoppers around me.  The weird thing about this recurring nightmare before Christmas is that I always wake up feeling energized physically and spent emotionally.

It is fascinating to me that I have these dreams every year. I am always prepared for the holidays and I generally start early. At breakfast this morning, I started to examine this yearly r.e.m. ritual for its meaning. Never fear, I will not bore you with my back and forthings, just my conclusions. And for the record they are inconclusive, these conclusions. So I guess they are not conclusions at all. Let’s just call them possibles.

Here is my possible. My Mom did not have money growing up. They were, as I have said before, the happy recipients of The Toronto Star Santa Fund, which delivered a package of Christmas in a box to each child in her family every year. Although extremely grateful for their generosity and the city’s generosity in donating to the fund, I know she was determined to change it up for her children. As a result, Christmas was the magical store window Christmas for us. My Mom did it up, let me tell you. And she fretted and plotted and ran around town like a lunatic to get everything she could afford, to place us in a postcard Christmas morning. Without even trying, she has instilled this in me. And although I have come strides in my life regards obsessing around the perfect Christmas, my subconscious is clearly festooned with boxes and bows and panic!

Shopped my Misstletush off today. Yes I did.

Although I do like kind of panicky there, don't I?  And P.S. Cutest skirt ever. It was felt, lined with silk. The doors of the circus carts would open to reveal different lovely animals.
LOVED THAT SKIRT!

Barbara: First off, I have to say that I actually have NOTHING against people describing their dreams. Instead, I find it quite fascinating. It’s so up my alley in terms of conjecture and psychology and fantasy and unlimited possibility. That said, I will acknowledge that I may be in the minority!

As for your dream—knowing how brilliant you are at the whole Christmas thing, how prepared and thorough you are, it amazed me that this would be an Achilles heel of yours. But, of course, don’t we all have issues around those things that mean (for whatever reason) the most to us?

Me? It’s the classic “actor’s nightmare” where I’m performing and can’t remember any of the lines. The truth of that nightmare is that it actually feels like it could be a possibility! I so feel like I would struggle with lines if I were to do a play again. With you, it just doesn’t seem possible that you would ever EVER forget to shop for Christmas. Anyway, I know that’s not the point of our dreams. I know there is deep voodoo magic embroiled inside them. What I wonder is: is there any way we can stop the cycle???

But, more importantly, congrats on already chipping away at the Christmas list, Deb!

T...T...T...Timing

Deb: They say timing is everything. It certainly is in my business. That is, the business of being a comedic actor. The truth is, without timing you are not a comedian. I bring this up because I was watching a documentary called All About Me, hosted by and about the great Katherine Hepburn. In it she says, “I came on the scene at just the right time wearing pants and sporting an athletic style and a strong-willed attitude. It was just the right time for ‘my style’ and so I became a star.” I am paraphrasing that comment as I did not memorize exactly what she said, but that is the gist of it—and I put it in quotes so you would know it was her saying that more or less. Can I be sued for that?

It got me thinking about timing. Timing in life. When I was a kid I so wanted to be a STAR. Being a successful actor was not enough. I wanted the world to see what I could do. I loved the limelight and would put on shows in my basement, garage, the cottage lawn, you name it. And I was always the STAR. A classic example of my take no prisoners you are going to notice and love me if it kills me attitude was when we did Bye Bye Birdie at the cottage to raise money to keep the local bingo game going. Please feel free to re-read that last sentence ... hilarious is it not?

Anyway, we were doing Bye Bye Birdie and I was of course Kim MacAfee, the Ann Margaret role, and my cousin Pam who is a really talented singer, and clearly too sweet for her own good, was playing Albert Peterson, the Dick Van Dyke role. But here’s the thing. I loved the song Put on a Happy Face, so I explained to Pam, who I love, that I needed to do that song too and of course Pam, being sweet Pam, relented. Every time I think of that story I howl with laughter. The nerve of me, honestly! But you see, I justified it as being for the good of the production. I was, after all, the future STAR.

Cut to: Not a STAR. Wasn’t in the cards clearly. Now some may say it’s because I wasn’t good enough and that may well be true. But I wonder about the timing of it as part of the reason. When I joined the famed Second City in Toronto, I was in a cast of hugely talented people. The cast before us was most of the SCTV people, and I remember thinking at that time, that we had just missed the boat, that timing had not been on our side. And so it has gone for me, my entire career.

Now please do not mistake what I am writing. I am not crying the blues here at all. I am perfectly happy with how things turned out for me. I love my life. Hell, I love life, period. Every second of it. Good and bad. And I also don’t have the sleep patterns to be a STAR! I would go to the Oscars, yes, but would fall asleep on my way to the Governor’s Ball. See? Wasn’t meant to be. On the other hand, when I married my lovely husband, he was a talented but struggling improviser/actor. When I fell in love with him I thought, Great, marrying an improviser! This will pay off in spades!!!  But timing was on his side. He came up just at the time that this old form of performing was going to go viral. His timing was great. It was nothing he did. It was just his time. He brought the talent and timing did the rest.

We all want timing to be with us, don’t we? No matter what we do in life we want something we have said or done to be on the cutting edge. We want one of our ideas or business reports or skills to be ahead of the curve. We want to be fresh and new or to kick off a trend or to see our dreams realized. But it doesn’t happen to all of us and it doesn’t always happen to the deserving (insert Snooky, Kardashian, Paris Hilton photos). But sometimes it is meant to be. So is it fate? Or is it timing? Or is it both? Or is timing a part of fate?

When Colin and I were first married, my STAR was on the rise. Many people have asked me about this and how I feel about being married to someone famous or, as my husband calls himself, “a small ‘c’ celebrity”. People have asked me if I am disappointed with the way things turned out. YES, THEY HAVE, you KNOW it’s true!!! “Gee, I thought you were going to be a STAR, what happened?” Ahhhh, the subtlety of people ... anyway, that’s for another blog.

And here is what I have to say about that. I am a STAR. I am the STAR of my own life. I think I was meant to STAR in my own life-story while it was going on. Who would play me in the Deb McGrath Story? I would, of course! And I do. I am the STAR of Deb McGrath’s life. I have a beautiful trailer which is my home and it resides on a gorgeous set which is our yard and my catering is done by the STAR Colin Mochrie. My wardrobe is perfect for me as if I bought it myself! I watch the Oscars on TV and if I fall asleep in the middle of them it doesn’t matter. No one is taking photos of my cellulite and posting them in the national rags. As for timing? It has been on my side every step of the way. Only it took me a while to realize it.

“Knock, Knock”

“Who’s there?”

“Interrupting cow.”

“Interrupting cow wh..

“MOOOOOOOOO”

Timing is everything.

Barbara: This is sooo interesting, timing-wise! (How many times have we all noted the serendipity of timing here on the blog?!) We were just, all of us here, talking about this. You know, I know a LOT of people who believe (when we speak of it in hushed tones amongst ourselves (who are only the nearest and dearest and most trusted in our lives)) that we/they are/were “destined for greatness”. Those very words: “for greatness”. From young and old alike I’ve heard the term.

My friend and I used to talk often about feeling we were “meant” to live “extraordinary” lives and not “ordinary” ones. The thing is, those of us who feel it, who believe it, who can “taste it”, are very often already leading extraordinarily great lives ... without even being aware of it. And it takes this kind of standing back and observing, of really listening to the truth in your gut, to truly grasp that.

Timing is everything in terms of the kind of “greatness” we’ve grown up to accept—you know, stardom and fame and everyone knowing your name (that and a shit load of luck) … (or maybe those are the same thing)—but if you are one of those who aspire to greatness, you are probably already living greatness in every moment you cope/invent/conquer/overcome/triumph/support/cheer and love. 

Dream A Little Dream With Me

Barbara: Do you like to talk dreams? Because lately a friend keeps asking me to pay attention to them—out of curiosity, but also out of interest as to what they might dredge up—and it made me realize that I haven’t thought about my dreams in a long while.

(Costa Rica: photo by Phil)

I’m not one to believe that our dreams can predict our future or the future or any aspect of it (although I do believe that there is a certain kind of person for whom this might be true). But I do think that dreams are manifestations of our questions or concerns or stresses or even joys.

In the morning when I wake, I hardly ever remember my dreams. It was only several years ago when I was doing some research and was encouraged to really try and remember them that I made a concerted effort to recall details as soon as I woke up. And it worked! Suddenly I could see the strange places I’d been in my dreams that were kinda like familiar places in real life but then not. I began to write the details down in a journal that I kept beside my bed, and that process helped me remember the dreams with even greater clarity. This ritual was so effective that to this day I remember dreams I had during that period. (Okay, there was this one where I’m an amphibian creature crawling around a vividly verdant rainforest floor but I’m also looking at my creature-self from above, way up high from the lush trees, also trying to crane my eyes over the tree-line to the blue sky beyond it, when suddenly my amphibian self says, very clearly over the rainforest whoooosh, “What you’re looking for is not up there. It’s down here on the ground.” Even though it was my dream, I still think that’s a cool, apt life-reminder for any of us, no?)

(Costa Rica: photo by Phil)

Anyway, the cataloguing-dreams thing was just an exercise and pretty soon I dropped the habit and began again to jump out of bed as soon as I woke to hit the ground running. Dreams went back to being what they’d been before, these distant, vague, sometimes unsettling, sometimes blank impressions … and nothing more. 

So I decided to heed my friend’s recent advice and from now on spend a few moments every morning trying to remember my dreams. At first it was frustrating. I couldn’t remember a thing. And what’s worse, I could feel the memory of the dream zinging away from my mind’s-eye like a yo-yo, now here, now gone up from whence it came. But I realized that if I really worked to grab the memory back before it was too far flung(!), the details would rack into focus and I could examine it, turning it first one way and then the other until it made some kind of coherent sense. Now I can tell you with complete confidence that each of my dreams (much like the amphibian dream) has featured me looking for something. But in an intent, calm, and specific way. Either I’m asking people questions, or I’m searching my house (but not my house, rather that weird, dreamly version of it), or I’m off in some distant land, exploring and discovering it. Or—like in last night’s dream—I’m either a newly minted police officer or an actor learning to be one, and I’m taking all these notes and being super anal and asking all these questions about how the sleuthing should be done but also giving my (unsolicited) opinion when I think the sleuthing could be more effective (sadly, this is so me, sigh).

The thing is, I don’t know what I’m searching for in essence through all these dreams, but it does make sense to me that this is the conundrum I’d take into my REM: what is it? what is next? where is it all leading? what will I find? will I know what to do with it when I find it?

There’s a really weird side-note to all this: the same friend who started this interesting dream-quest also reminded me about that pen I lost all those years ago—and she challenged me to be open to finding it. So I’m lying in bed this morning, freshly awake, remembering that police-slash-actor-training dream in all its strange detail and suddenly my thoughts go to that errant pen, out of nowhere. And I get this deeply aware feeling that I know where it is. And it’s an option I’d long ago forgotten. I see it with another person. A person who said they didn’t have it way back then. As I said, an option I looked into and then put aside in favour of searching high and low in my own home. I’m not saying I believe it was stolen, I’m saying I just suddenly felt it was gone to this other, unreachable place. A real pen’s real whereabouts … or a metaphor for something else?

Are dreams speaking to us from some place we don’t ever tap into in waking life, or are they simply a wild kind of movie-version of what we already know? Is it the truth … or is it all just a dream?

Deb: Fascinating and timely subject, Barb—for me too. I am finding of late the insomnia seems to be the order of the day for me. Or I should say, order of the night. 3am to 6am to be specific. My feeling around this is that my dreams and wakefulness are a manifestation of that which I cannot face.

Although my day is filled with positive active movement regards the changes in my Mom and Dad’s life, my dreams are filled with doubt and self-judgment. When I wake up sometimes it is all I can do to shake them. But shake them I do. I know these images and feelings are the part of me that wants to plant the seed of self-doubt. And I guess if I had to choose, I’d take them during sleep rather than during a waking moment, which might affect my life or someone else’s life. So, yeah, I think the dreams are what we don’t and won’t tap into. I also think they are daring adventures that an unused part of our brain’s spirit wants to go on. And if we won’t go willingly, it takes us regardless.

You have inspired me to the dream journal, Barb. I have a splendid one that my husband bought me in Italy. A lovely brown leather deal with the moon and stars stitched on the cover. I will wait till this period of my life is settled and then I will start recording in it, not my dreams but the images and feelings provoked as a result of them. It’s pointless to do it right now though, as I know all too well which part of my brain this oddness and fear is coming from—and why. But soon, I will crack it open. Look out, brain, here I come. 

The Creative Future

Barbara: I was born in the sixties and grew up in the seventies. They’re always looking for an apt moniker for my generation—we’re too young to be Boomers and too old to be X-ers. What are we in a nutshell? I think we were the first generation to be the You Can Have It All-ers, or the Don’t Do Anything You Don’t Love-ers. We were raised to believe that we could and should follow our dreams. I suffered no obstacles growing up and choosing acting as my university degree and then my career. No one wanted to see me or my peers pursue anything we didn’t love, to see us stuck—like so many before us—in boring, soul-sucking jobs. Call us Generation Maybe: maybe we can do it, maybe we can’t.

Because, of course, reality hits and many of us found ourselves needing to balance our talents and dreams with the drudgery of paying bills and sending our own kids into their bright futures. Getting the balance right between love and necessity has been excruciating at times. Do you still tell your kids they can do anything they want? And how many of those kids now struggling with failing worldwide economies will give up on creative lives, and how many of them are destined to be the future of our creative culture? Our writers, our philosophizers, our artists, our dancers, singers, musicians. You know, those people who make life worth living, who bring it its poetic beauty, its incomparable ability to turn a mirror on life and say: Yes, this is what it looks like if you step back a bit; this is your tragedy, your struggle, your strength, your frustration, your petty greed, your jealousy, your epic courage.

Maybe it’s my own life experience that wants to play this rather sobering thought against an amazing experience I had a couple of weeks ago on a film set. This production is the best possible example of how we can support the creative geniuses of tomorrow. As an added bonus, it nurtures those geniuses who come from at-risk backgrounds and who might never otherwise have the chance to explore—and then discover—their unique voices.

The REMIX Project is a non-profit organization (recently awarded Best Youth Organization by Toronto’s Now Magazine) that dedicates itself to bringing the arts to young people from disadvantaged backgrounds and neighbourhoods, offering them the chance to explore their talents and skills in a safe, nurturing environment. And most importantly, developing those skills so that these young people can have a serious foothold in the business of the arts. Their City Life Film Project is the component that deals with film and, together with Temple Street Productions, they provide not just the training but the mentors and the equipment and the extensive crew that filmmakers need to bring their visions to the screen. Participants have to apply to get into the program and are chosen based on their storytelling skills, and then after a 3-month intensive, three projects are chosen for production.

I had the incredible honour of working with one of these brilliant voices of tomorrow. Kimberly wrote the script loosely based on a day in her own life when, as a lonely, disenfranchised 14-year-old girl, her mother had a postpartum breakdown. A 15-minute short, it goes from scary to heartbreaking with breathtaking speed. There were only four of us as actors on set: the one playing the child, the one playing the mother, one as the stepfather, and myself as the doctor. Kim had to not only create a visual story through the camera, but she also had to take the actors deep into the heart of her real-life crisis.

We actors had to find gut connections to this story and convey them in an honest and soul-baring way. This is not an easy task for an actor. It might seem so, but it takes an enormous amount of trust and courage. Kim, barely 20-years-old, actually took our hands and expertly guided us into the mire. She was articulate, passionate, compelling and direct. In all my years on a set, I’ve rarely worked with a director I trusted as much as I trusted her. I knew if she didn’t see it on-screen, she wouldn’t be shy to tell us we needed to go “150%”. I’ve also never worked with a director who so directly related to their on-screen story that each creative discussion and each scene ended with their face bright and open, tears rolling down their cheeks, heartfelt expressions of gratitude or wisdom or personal confession pouring from their mouth. They talk about the directors who get naked with their actors for a love scene; this director got emotionally naked with us—and yet never forgot to do her very difficult job as a director. Kim has it all.

At the end of the day, I did what I do repeatedly with my own kids: I told Kim—despite every indication that it is a an exercise in futility to be an artist—to keep following her dream, to never let anyone tell her that a young black woman couldn’t/shouldn’t direct, to keep telling her stories.

Maybe in life, we can’t do what we want to do all the time because of bills and obligations. Maybe we have to get a “joe-job” or even a good one but one that doesn’t feed the soul. Maybe we will feel frustrated because we can’t be full-time artists. But maybe, just maybe, we have to keep forging ahead with our stories (or music or paintings or ideas) in every other moment there is. It would be a terrible shame and loss for all of us to lose even one Kim to “cold, hard” reality.

Thanks to organizations like REMIX for allowing these dreams to breathe and grow.

Deb: This is such a fascinating subject, Barb. On a personal level, the only way I can relate to it is through the boy. The boy who wanted to be a surrealist when he was twelve. We encouraged him. When he was thirteen and wanted to be an actor, he asked us what it would be like to be an actor in the theatre. We said, “If that is what you live for, then the art on your wall might be the posters from your shows and your passion can be the fact that you get up each day and get to do what you love. If for any reason you have the desire for stuff—houses, belongings and the ilk—then you might want to match your dreams to a dollar sign. But make sure they are still your dreams.”

I think each generation has a share of this. I was born in 1954 and my parents supported me 100%.  I think there were parents through the 60’s, earlier, and right on down the line who did not support this theory, but I think there were many, including my parents, who did. There were also artists who became same despite their parents. It is the way of the world. Your parents are artists so it was a no-brainer for them, and lucky for you.

Your experience on this recent set was a game-changer and I think that is FABULOUS FOR YOU!

But, despite all the evidence to the contrary, I side with you and with the Kim’s of the world.

Follow your Dreams. Life is short. Life can be sweet. But follow your dreams. It is essential to survival. 

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way With Molly

Deb and Barbara met Molly recently here on the blog. She has her own wonderful blog called Random Thoughts. Molly has become an invaluable member of our cozy community here at The Middle Ages.

Molly: I want to thank Deb and Barbara for inviting me to do a three way. I’m so honored and thrilled.

From the ages of 8-12, I was involved with a children’s theater group. I had such a wonderful time performing as a kid. What I didn’t realize then was how much being a part of that company was going to shape me into who I am now. Along with an appreciation for the theater arts, I learned two valuable lessons. I learned how to use my voice and I learned how to be comfortable in front of a crowd. While I didn’t make acting my career, (I went into Recreation Management) those two skills have really played a major role in just about every aspect of my life.

One of my many dreams has been to start my own children’s theater and introduce kids to the theater in the way it was done for me so many years ago. I’m not professional (it’s been 20 years since I did any theater) and I’m not looking to make professional kid actors. I just wanted to give some kids a chance to do something they have never done before. Doing the children’s theater was always just a dream that played around in my head and I always thought to myself, someday……

Right now, in my life, I have some free time in a way I haven’t had since my oldest son was born 13 years ago. I’d been thinking about doing this theater for years and over the last several months it was in my brain more and more. Then, through a series of events and visits with several friends, I got to thinking that maybe I could do this. I mulled it over in my head for several weeks, thinking out the plan I would need to have if I was serious about this idea. I didn’t want to tell anyone, not even my husband, until I was sure that I had thought this through.

In May, I announced Auntie M’s Children’s Theater to my family and friends and expected everyone to say, “Molly, that is the dumbest idea you have ever had.” But they didn’t. They thought it was very neat and were so supportive. I held the auditions, directed rehearsals, built the sets, and on June 17^th and 18^th, we had our performances.

Auntie M’s Children’s Theater

The kids, who ranged in age from 6-10, did great, although they had the hardest time remembering to not turn their backs to the audience. I was also very amused that they couldn’t seem to speak loudly on the stage, but as soon as rehearsal was over, they were running around yelling. Go figure.

I knew that if I didn’t do this now, I would always regret it. I had to try. If the entire thing blew up in my face and was a disaster, I could say I tried and move on with my life. However, it wasn’t a disaster. Sure, we had our moments of difficulty, but that’s all it was, a moment here and there. I loved working with the kids. It wasn’t a professional production by any means and I had to accept the fact that several of them would undoubtedly turn their backs to the audience, and they did, but it was OK.

Since the show, I’ve had a lot of people ask me if I’m going to do this again next summer. Yes I am! I can’t wait. I’ve already gotten one script written and have started a second one. So, a big thanks to all the ladies who inspired me to follow my dreams. The experience has been amazing.

Barbara: Molly, this story is so inspiring! For a few reasons actually. One, because you had such a brilliant and wonderful dream to pursue. Two, that you pursued it with such dedication, despite concerns that you might fail. And three, that you pulled it off in such a miraculously short period of time!

I think a lot of us find ourselves holding dreams that we either don’t have the courage to initiate or, if we do, then those dreams don’t have the common courtesy to come true for us!! Molly has inspired me to remember that the bottom line is that it’s about getting your hands dirty. Doing whatever needs to be done. Working your butt off toward your heartfelt goal. And not giving up if someone turns their back on you ;). Because in the end, that is the best and greatest sign of success: that you went for it. No one and nothing will hold it against you if your dream doesn’t turn out the way you’d hoped (and if someone does, well, that’s their problem). Because the truth is: NO dream can come true without someone dreaming and then actively working toward it.

Molly wrote us privately not too long ago to share her story with us. Not only did we ask her to share it with you here, but we asked if it would be okay to include a certain interesting element of that story. Molly agreed. Her email was as beautiful and inspiring as today’s post, but what stopped me in my tracks was that one of her many inspirations came from reading our three-way with Rayna of Coffee Rings Everywhere. The nutshell of that wonderful post is that present-day Rayna has an honest conversation with her younger self. Turns out this prompted Molly to ask herself what her younger self would say to her today. She realized that her younger self would want her to follow this amazing dream. Obviously, this moment was one of many dominoes that lined up to tip Molly’s resolve, but the reminder here too is that there is an amazing power in our collective ability to support each other, either knowingly or unknowingly. And for that, I am truly and utterly amazed and grateful.

Thank you, Molly, for your great story and for this wonderful reminder!

Deb: Molly, I too was so inspired by this story. I LOVE when people follow their dreams. Any dreams. All dreams. Yours is especially sweet because you didn’t have to fight tooth and nail with friends and family naysaying it. You had support. It is as if this dream was sitting here all ready to go. The universe knew it, but was just waiting for you to realize it.

A year ago my sister-in-law lost her job because the people she worked for retired and closed up shop. She is middle-aged but decided she wanted to pursue her dream of acting professionally. Some people were trying to discourage her because of her age and her lack of experience. But she wanted to give it a go. It’s so funny how people will go out of their way to tell you that you can’t, isn’t it? But I thought I don’t give a darn what her odds are and proceeded to help and encourage and foster her dream. For a while she worked with a cold-reading group and loved the creative stimulation. Sadly, time ran out and she had to take a job which she loves but is not in the arts. But no matter what, I know that she would have regretted it forever if she had not tried. GO DREAMS! DREAMS ROCK!

Molly is a stay at home mom of five children, ages 3, 5, 7, 11, and 13. In addition to raising kids, she enjoys weaving, writing on her blog Random Thoughts, is an amateur onomast, and has begun working on her Master’s degree in Library and Information Science . 

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way

Deb and Barb Have A Three-Way With Hollye

Deb and Barbara met Hollye when she arrived on the scene here with her beautiful, heartfelt comments. Then we discovered her wonderful blog, Truth and Consequences, a touching, articulate examination of how we react to events around us, whether they are world issues, community politics, or personal upheavals. Hollye is also a gorgeous singer, which you can discover for yourself if you follow the links on her site.

Hollye as Bunny

Hollye: If you had asked me ten years ago what I’d be doing in my late forties, I’d have said that my two children would be grown and out of the house, I’d be in college finishing that elusive degree, travelling all the places I used to dream about, and finally writing that book I’d always had in my head. I expected to be sipping espresso in a café in Paris, lost in deep contemplation, engulfed in the reinvention of myself at mid-life. But here I am in this bunny suit.

Not exactly what I had in mind, and yet, I couldn’t be more grateful. My life is a clear illustration of that saying Man plans, God laughs.

Here’s where my plans went awry. I had a surprise pregnancy at forty-one (and OH what a surprise). Then at forty-six my college-attending son broke the news of his girlfriend’s unexpected pregnancy. She was also a Japanese exchange student, losing her housing, and they’d need a place to live.

Today we have six people living under our roof. I spend my days chaperoning field trips, changing diapers, rocking the baby, kissing scraped knees and volunteering as the Easter Bunny….

The reality of who I am now is so far from the expectation. Life is funny that way. You ask the universe for apples and you get oranges, but hey, I’m not complaining. Every shock became a great blessing. So on the days that Taylor’s band is rehearsing downstairs at deafening levels while the cat is puking, the dogs are chasing each other through the house, the baby is teething and my five-year-old is hanging from the chandeliers, I take a deep breath and remind myself how quickly these years will pass, and how I’ll yearn for them when they’re gone.

So I guess its no café in Paris for me, at least not right now. But hey––I still wrote that book! I strive to be a writer in the midst of constant interruptions and pre-menopausal memory failures. Yes, it’s hectic, but as a person who loves story, I watch the daily goings on and say to myself I couldn’t write this any better.

Barbara: Hollye, this idea of how we thought we would be versus how things turned out is such a fraught subject, I’m THRILLED you brought it up. My friend Charlotte often quotes me as having said many years ago, “I want an extraordinary life, not an ordinary one.” The good thing about that mantra is that is encourages you to keep going despite any setback, it convinces you that anything is possible, and it inspires you to always shift the lens to change the view when the image isn’t quite what you had hoped. BUT it can also make you overlook the beauty of your ordinary life in all its extraordinariness.

I remember distinctly the idea I had in my head of myself as an adult when I was 10 or 12: a coiffed brunette wearing a spaghetti-strapped white clingy dress holding a mic and singing my heart out on stage in front of thousands. I was SURE that’s who I was going to be one day. It didn’t matter that I was a skinny blonde with absolutely no singing talent whatsoever. What I did do was write, write, write. 

Barbara at 10 doing what she loves best

Later I thought I was going to be an actor, star of screen and stage. This is also when I gave up writing, believing a careless grade ten English teacher who made a point of telling me that I didn’t have any talent. But with visions of stardom dancing in my head, did I go to Hollywood and try my luck? No, I had babies and loved them and loved my cozy life here in Toronto. My husband and I settled in for the count. But that picture kept clinging: me starring in countless projects and always having the opportunity to do this thing I love…. That didn’t quite work out either.

BUT because of that setback, I found my way back to writing. And here I sit, laptop on hand, chatting with you guys, something I COULD never have dreamed, and diving into all that is extraordinary within my “ordinary” life. Like you, Hollye, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Deb: Hollye, I always think we go through our lives hoping to do what we want to do, and in the end we find that we ended up doing what we were called to do. Certainly that doesn’t mean you still can’t travel the world and follow your dreams but clearly there are other pressing things to take care of first.

We figured when the boy left (almost three years ago now) that we might sell the house and buy an apartment in NYC or travel to our passion places. But my Mom and Dad, as it turned out, need us at this time of life and we just can’t go. I had no idea what a gift it would turn out to be. Giving back to them has not even scratched the surface of what they have given to me in my life. I am on an adventure, just not the one I planned.

And for the record, the most beautiful picture of you sipping wine on a balcony in Paris would never compare to the shot of the Hollye Bunny! Makes me smile every time I look at it. But keep dreaming that dream, girl! It will become reality ... one day.

Hollye Dexter is freelance writer, blogger, and author of the memoir Only Good Things. She is also a singer/songwriter with four albums out. She founded two nonprofit organizations, running intergenerational arts programs for senior citizens and teenagers in the Foster Care and Juvenile Justice Systems. In 2007 she received the Agape Spirit award from Dr. Michael Beckwith (from The Secret) for her work with at-risk youth. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and three children.

Sleepscape

Deb: When I am sad I fall into a hypnotic state. My brain becomes the drug pusher in this “trip” of sleep that takes over my body. Everyone deals with sadness and stress differently. I fall into sleep. Constantly and willingly. I cannot for the life of me stay awake no matter what.

My brain is protecting me. Good old brain. I look at my sleepscape as a gift, one that has been handed down to me through generations. You see, my people are sleepers. At least half of my people. My Dad is the sleeper, my Mom is the night owl partier. When I was growing up my Dad became the cartoon Dad in the comic strips. He could and would nap on a dime. Anytime, anywhere. Parties, picnics, plays, you name it. It was a sore spot for Mom as she saw this as disrespect and something for her to be embarrassed about. And from her point of view, I get it. She clocks her 18 hours of wake time and wears it like a badge of honour. Sleepers are weak from her point of view.

But as I’ve gotten older, I realize that we are all sleep wired. Our brains are dictating to our bodies just how much sleep we need. For me, it’s eight hours, but I’ll happily take nine. Can’t help it. To quote Popeye, “I yam who I yam.”

I read articles about people like Martha Stewart and her four hours of sleep and I am pea green with envy. Can you imagine all the things you could accomplish if you only required four hours? Wow. I could repaint the sky in that time. But I’m not awake long enough so I’ll just paint the bit that’s over my house.

And then I’ll do what I do with all the challenges in my middle-aged life. I’ll make friends with my sleep. After all, It gives me the morning gift of refreshed renewal and when I’m sad, it heals me. One nap at a time.

Barbara: Well, Deb, we are the same on this point. I have always needed a full night of sleep myself—yup, eight to nine hours––and I’ve always, always envied the don’t-need-to-sleep-much sleepers. Those people who get up at the crack of dawn (or earlier), workout, walk the dog, watch the sun rise, read the paper, then go to work, work their asses off, come home, fine dine, socialize, then write their manuscripts. It seems so purposeful, even if it also seems so potentially stressful. Funnily, for the longest time, I imagined you were one of those, Deb. You always seemed to be up and at ‘em. It’s strange how it comforts me to know that you do all that you do and get exactly the same amount of sleep as I need.

I also try to take comfort from those sleep studies that extol the virtues of a good eight hours for health and beauty reasons. But that might just be me grasping at straws—because the little-sleep people seem just as healthy and beautiful as any others (I mean, Martha Stewart? Come on. After all that she’s accomplished and been through, she’s downright babelicious.) So I think your “sleep wired” theory explains that little puzzle.

As for the sad sleep—well, there’s no doubt about sleep’s essential value when I’m in the doldrums. If my problems don’t haunt my dreams, the sleepscape––as you so beautifully call it—is such a tonic for my pain and stress and disappointment and loss. It is the place where I can actually paint the sky then fly through it unfettered, only coming back to earth when it’s time to wake up and face the world.

Sweet dreams, my dear friend.