I recently wrote the following paragraph. It is simply a descriptive paragraph with no hidden meaning.

She lowered herself into the tub. The warm water wrapped around her, inviting her to sink down and relax. As she did so, she noticed a noise outside. It reminded her of the sounds of snowplows and snowblowers after a winter storm. Although snow this time of year was not unheard of, so far there hadn’t been a single flake. She wondered what the noise was, but couldn’t summon the curiocity or energy to go look. She sank back into the tub without giving it another thought.

If the above had been found in a Dean Koontz book, the reader would have continued on to find that the unknown noise was caused by a giant alien machine or something of that sort. Actually, I didn’t check it out, but my guess would be it was just a mundane piece of farm machinery. Just thought it was an interesting exercise in descriptive writing. Okay, maybe interesting only for me.

I am writing this after returning home from my youngest son’s basketball game. I considered the games a success, despite the fact that the boys lost. So how am I measuring success?

I am measuring success by the fact that all the kids (my kid included) got a lot of playing time. I am measuring success by the fact that my kid scored a basket. I am measuring success by the fact that the kids are learning to all play together and work together.

Last year there were two teams, an A team and a B team. Yeah, you know what B team meant. You weren’t as good as A team. There were only 10 or 11 players out for basketball, yet we had to divide into two teams. The B team didn’t even get to play an entire game, only one half. This year, there are only 8 kids out. We cannot do two separate teams. Now we are one team, playing two games. This is so much better. Kids mix and play together.

I have been watching my oldest son play in college. One game the team game won but A didn’t play. The second game they lost, but A at least got a few minutes of playing time. Which game do you think I enjoyed more? Perhaps I’m being selfish.

Or perhaps success is often measured by the wrong things. Master is a writer. He loves to write. It is what he does for a living. People will ask him if he is rich. He replies, “Yes. I’m rich in family and friends. I’m rich in that I have a career that I love. Yes, I’m rich.”

One would do well to remember that success is not necessarily measured by points on a scoreboard or dollar signs in a bank account.

My son is in college, and playing basketball. It’s a whole new ball game at this level.

As I watch the boys play, I can see that it is much faster paced. Many things that would be called fouls in high school are not called at this level, at least not in the first two games that I have seen.

Those are things I can get used to, no problem. What was really weird was watching my kid sit the bench. I traveled 2 hours to see his first game, and he never played. Even in high school, not everyone necessarily gets to play, but his team won by 19 points, and 4 players never played. At the second game, my son got to play about 4 minutes. They lost by 14 points and were never ahead.

So how does the coach decide who to play? What are his goals? What does he base his decisions on? I talked to a couple of high school coaches, but they couldn’t offer me much insight. One said that sometimes he might play a lot and other times not. The other coach said that’s the way it is in college. Sometimes there seems to be no rhyme or reason to who the coach plays.

I am smart enough to know that it is not my place to complain about such a thing as my kid’s lack of playing time. On the other hand, I don’t think I want to follow the team all over (most of the games are at least 1 ½ hours away) to watch my kid sit the bench. I am going to try to find a delicate way to discuss this with my son. But one of the coaches said that he probably wouldn’t know when or why he would play either.

Ah, to be a college basketball mom. I’m learning so much.

A couple of nights ago I once again dreamed about going back to live in a house I used to own. This house is 40 miles from where I currently live. It is the first house I bought. When I changed jobs, I sold it to someone who fixed it up and resold it. It is where I lived when my second son was born, and when my husband decided to end our marriage, giving me little reason.

For some reason, this place keeps popping up in my dreams periodically. Usually I go back there to live. As is the case with dreams, last night’s combined reality with the impossible. I got my old job back, and I moved back to that town, to that house. My oldest son was in college, as he is now. It was just me and my younger son. In real life, my youngest is 13. In the dream he was a baby.

When I went back to that town, I went to the house that used to be mine. I’m not sure what I was thinking. I went to the door, and to my surprise it was not locked. I went in and set up housekeeping. There weren’t many changes/ improvements to the house after all. As a matter of fact, it needed work. But I was there, where I belonged. I just knew that when I contacted the owners, we would work something out so I could buy the house.

Okay, let’s step back into reality. I won’t address the many reasons this dream is unrealistic. My question is, why do I keep dreaming about this house???? Because it comes up periodically, I believe there must be something to it. Do I want to go back to a simpler time? What is it??

I woke up this morning, bugged by the fact that I had dreamt about that house again. I don’t expect to ever live in that town again, let alone that house. But for some unfathomable reason, my subconscious keeps taking me back there.

A couple of titles I use regularly with my Master are Master and Sir. I also use terms of endearment, such as dear and love.

Dear and love mean just what they say. They express the feelings that I have toward my Master. I consider him my love. He is dear to me. But the other night, I called him dear and he replied, “That’s Sir to you.” At which point, of course, I called him Sir.

How are the titles different from terms of endearment? Well, first of all, to me Sir recognizes my Master’s position as a Dominant, as well as mine as a submissive. Master wanted me to acknowledge his dominance over me, and, of course, I complied. But, to me, Sir doesn’t necessarily convey any warm feelings with it.

Master, on the other hand, envelops both the ideas of dominance and affection. I am reminded of the place in the Bible where Mary Magdalene first recognizes Jesus after he arose from the dead. She calls him Master. I envision that word to be filled by both submission and great love. This is the feeling the word Master engenders for me. It is a word reserved only for the one who, in my eyes, is deserving of such a title.