Subconsciously, I must have remembered this article’s due date was approaching. Last week I momentarily thought about checking with Lyte in my rushed existence, but promptly forgot before doing so. Life has been like that lately. I can’t hold a thought because of all of the rushing, running, and things to do.

We had our annual pond party the last Saturday in July, with 27 people flying or driving in to stay on the property, including Lyric’s boyfriend’s parents, whom I’d not seen since their son, Lee, and Lyric graduated from UNC in 2006. The two of them met in a women’s studies class their freshman year, and been dating since their sophomore year. They’d maintained the relationship through distances—Lyric in Africa for a semester abroad, Lee in Greece for a summer, Lyric in New York City for a semester at Bard, and then both living in D.C. separately and, finally for this past year, together.

Many of their friends were driving down after work in a caravan from the District of Columbia on Friday. I’d scrubbed both houses. Ed had mowed trails, lawns, meadows and a field to park the cars of the 80-90 expected guests. The arrivals began on Wednesday. On Friday, we’d held a pre-party dinner with nine friends who’d flown in from the West Coast. We’d gone to bed at 1 in the morning on Saturday.

At 3am, I awoke, realizing in a dream that I had forgotten to make up the living room couch for one of the expected D.C. party. I opened the bedroom door to the upstairs landing only to be sprayed with water and feel water gushing over my feet through the open door. I yelled there was a broken pipe, and ran downstairs as Ed stumbled to the bathroom to see if he could locate the problem. It was raining downstairs in my living room and kitchen, the water ankle-deep on the hardwood floors. Our three-story house is all wood: floors, walls and ceilings.

We mopped until 4am, just finishing as the arrivals drove up our driveway. Floors swelled, buckled, and bathroom doors refused to close—but the party went on without a hitch. Three tents covered the lawn. Every bed, couch and 3 double air mattresses made dorm room conditions of the living rooms, but no one minded a bit. We floated on the pond, ate great food, danced to a rock n’ roll band, and our daughter and Lee announced their engagement.

Friends stayed until the following Thursday. Ed and I collapsed the next weekend. Now we have begun the process of ripping out floors, tiling the bathrooms, replacing what needs to be repaired and "remodeling." Ed can devote time to that, since he was laid off work at the end of June. He’d planned to retire in December. When Lyric asked him what he was going to do when he retired, he said, "I’m going to let the Universe guide me." Gotta have a sense of humor when you make statements like that!

Back to my subconscious. I have found that at certain times of my life I dream something that, upon waking, I can’t shake. When I inherently knew it was time to leave St. Thomas, I had a horrific dream of pushing a baby carriage across a road, dodging traffic and not making it.

Another night men rushed me and grabbed me and I awoke. The worst one was when I dreamed of being shot. I knew it was time to take my family elsewhere, but hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself. The dreams left me with such a sense of unease that I had to face what my higher self was trying to tell me.

Last night I dreamed that a white-haired woman (how I sometimes perceive myself in dreams, perhaps the wise woman inside) had come to me and asked to interview me for an article she had to write. I knew she had interviewed me a few times before. I agreed readily.

She then said that she didn’t really want to interview me again, but was running out of time for her deadline, and so she had called me. I asked her why she felt that way. She looked into my eyes and said, "Because you have become so negative. You used to be a happy, positive person, and it was easy. But now I have to think how to phrase what you say."

I said I was sorry, and wondered if Ed had picked up on that, and why he hadn’t told me.

I woke up with a distinct realization that this was true. A new semester at college had begun, I was overwhelmed with the process of remodeling, and I was feeling old and tired. I’d already told Lyric that I was "too old" to keep doing this (parties), too worn out, and that we needed to hire someone to handle the upcoming wedding.

When she asked for our input about places to wed, I realized I didn’t want to divorce myself from this life experience of my only child and just "show up." I realized that she was my light and love and our most beautiful creation, besides the relationship Ed and I have. I needed to "snap out of it", and focus on the joy.