Try the vodka, Comrade!

Before certain of my readers freak out about the possibility of this blog containing anecdotes about alcohol and drinking, let me assure you that there will be none. I just wanted a subject line to draw you in. Muahahaha! Also, my mother and I made borscht the other day, and I keep wanting to call people "comrade" when I offer them the leftover soup. Speaking of which, I'll eat some in a bit. That parsnip, potato, carrot, cabbage, and beet yumminess is calling my name.

Why did we make borscht? Of all the soups in the world, borscht is really one of those not quite on the radar of the average American citizen. Well, the Cosby Show influenced it inadvertently with an episode about home remedies for colds, and then my Ukrainian roots shouted out above the noise of American mass-media, and I said, "Let's make borscht." So we did.

[complete and total subject change]

Last night, I had fitful sleep sprinkled with a nightmare and other bizarre dreams. When I woke up from the nightmare, I was so scared that, if I hadn't been practically paralyzed in bed, I would have gone to my parents' room and crawled into bed with them. I was absolutely terrified and ended up praying and crying to get past the fear.

So that dream took place in Africa during a situation that I can only compare to the Hutu/Tutsi genocide in Rwanda. Mind you, I have never been to Rwanda, nor have I ever directly or indirectly witnessed genocide anywhere in the world, so I don't know where this dream came from. I didn't watch any movies recently about racial conflicts, read any books, or scan any online articles. I have NO IDEA where this dream came from.

My parents and I were in what seemed to be an African hospital room with a door that opened out onto a courtyard, then an open street with a field across it. In the hospital room, two African women were in the hospital bed, but they seemed to be in good health, but that's how dreams go, right? It's at night, and in the open field across the way is a mob of African men with torches, machetes, who knows whatever else, jumping around and shouting hate-filled slogans in their native tongue. (Again, there were no specific tribes in the dream, but I can only liken it to the Hutu/Tutsi conflict in '94.)

My parents and I are trying to evacuate, but we know that there's no way that we can leave the hospital when all of these incensed men are across the street. They'll spot us and kill us before we can get anywhere. So we're packing up a few things to take with us, and the women in the hospital bed are happy as larks, which makes no sense because I think they're the other tribe involved in the conflict.

It gets to early morning when the sky is just starting to lighten, and my dad looks out the open door of the room to where there is now nothing across from us. We--my mother and I--have just a few things left to pack, so my dad says, "They're gone," shoulders his backpack, and heads out, adding, "Good luck!" as he disappears out of sight. For the record, my dad would NEVER do this. Seriously, my dad would never leave his family in the midst of crisis, even if we were "right" behind him.

So my mom and I are grabbing our things--for some reason my mom is transferring her stuff from one purse to another--and then a German nurse comes by, peeks her head in, sees that the African women are sleeping, and says, "Well why don't we shut this door?" and effectively removes our only method of escape.

Mind you, all we have to do is open the door, but as there are no windows on that side of the room, we have no idea what could be on the other side of the door. Then a German--I don't know why German, but that was the case--doctor comes along, opens the door a bit, just enough for us to see his wizened face with glasses, a beard, a bald pate with tufts of hair flying out around his ears, and asks, "How are our patients doing today?"

Then, like in a horror movie, he slowly opens the door up wider and in the doorway behind him is a sea of hate-filled African faces just waiting. There was absolutely NO ONE outside before the doctor showed up and then all of a sudden... Anyway, then I'm on the ground behind the bed, trying to find a hiding place under it, but one of the men crouches down on the other side, sees me, and then calls me out--I don't know why I turned all cowardly and left my mom out in the open.

And then I woke up from the dream, but I'll never forget that wall of faces or the eyes of that man who saw me under the bed. I know this probably doesn't sound terrifying to you, dear readers, but it made me rethink my parents returning to Africa in July. Boo.

My other dreams I can't really remember right now, except for bits and pieces. One of the dreams included ships at sea, those ships being of the buccaneer persuasion, and the one I rode on being laden with booty. Arrr. Another dream involved a cross-country RV trip in a nice RV, not like the the dumpy one we lived in for a year back in 1995. Arrr...gh. I feel like there was something else really weird, but now I can't remember.

Anyway, my purple soup of borscht goodness calls.