It was no Wonderland. . .

I had a rather disturbing dream last night.  Lately, I seem to be having them most nights, one right after the other.  This one woke me quite abruptly and I found myself deeply enmeshed in a grief-stricken panic attack.  I may have been shouting out loud, I don’t know.  The cat merely glared at me and didn’t say.   In the dream, it was night time and I was aboard one of two school buses that were getting ready to pull away from the front of a school in a neighboring town; which in this case, was an exact replica of HCS.  (It was Walton, specifically, although I can’t fathom why or how I know this since there were no other landmarks in my dream.)  The time period was the present.  The bus was full of people but I presume their presence was unrelated to my dream since they were silent and motionless and their identities were blotted into obscurity by the darkness.  I, on the other hand, was a ranting, raving, screaming lunatic!  (Why does that remind me of a Billy Joel song?  “…it just may be a lunatic you’re lookin’ for…”   No matter!  Billy Joel was not in my dream.)  Without warning, the bus revved its motor and began pulling away from the school.  “Wait!” I said to the driver.  “I have to get my things!”  He just kept driving.  “Please!” I pleaded, but there was still no response.  I began to panic.  I could see my personal items on the outside front steps…my purse, my music, my open violin case…and it was beginning to rain!  I could feel my heart filling with anguish as I sobbed and, once again, I begged the driver to stop.  His featureless, robotic response was, “Once the bus is moving, I’m not allowed to stop,” and he drove on.   My ‘poor spell’ escalated to a magnitude of new height……and that’s when I woke up.

Dreams, and the (debatable) significance they hold, have always captivated me.  Even more so due to the fact that I seem to remember mine more often than not and carry them with me for a time.  I used to simply enjoy the challenge of making the obvious connections between their nonsensical surface and reality.  For instance:  school bus = school is starting; Walton = I’ve recently been to the Fair; purse = I walked out of church without it on Sunday and had to go back to retrieve it; and, of course, violin = heart, which has been broken.  Now, although I do not claim to understand the process, I’ve come to appreciate the infinite depth of dreams and their considerably significant role in the well being of our emotional mentality.

From a bit of a more pragmatic side:  Why did I leave my most precious possessions unattended…outside…on a set of stone steps…at night…in the rain?  Why was my violin case open? Where had I been?  Why was I on the bus without them?  What the heck was I thinking?!    

It was no Wonderland, there was no Cheshire Cat (just Clementi), and I am not Alice.  However, I do  admire Alice's assertive "POOH!" when she let those cards have it with a good swift kick.

Thoughts on a Saturday morning. . .

Saturday, 10:30 AM. . .

What a pleasure it was to "sleep in" this morning until eight o'clock! I look forward to Tuesday and Saturday mornings for that reason.  After yesterday’s dealings with a sputtering, engine-light-flashing car, while out of town, the extra rest was blissfully welcome.  It was brief bliss however, since I quickly remembered the dismal status of my car and that I am presently without a vehicle.  Not that I had any plans to go anywhere today, mind you.  But what if the need arises? What about tomorrow?  I placate myself by opting to delay thinking about those questions until later, when and if the need arises.  Right now, I’m quite content with being “stuck” here.  It’s a beautiful, sunshiny day! The fragrance in the air is heavenly!  The warmth of the sun is like summer, yet the air is sprinkled with leaves floating aimlessly to the ground. There is a subtle difference in the ‘look’ of things and a keen ear will notice the changes in the outdoor sounds – the bird noises, for one thing, the rustling of the small animals in the woods, for another.   Their chattering noises tell me they are very busy preparing their winter ‘stash.’   Ah, yes, the long-awaited transitions from summer into fall have begun, and, try as I might to hold onto one season, the next will always scoop me up and carry me joyfully to the next.

 

I am remembering a past September day, the 18th, as a matter of fact, but I don't know the year.  It was when some or all of my kids were still in school.  It was a day much like this one but further into fall and the trees were just about to reach their peak of colorful brilliance.  It was so hot, that when the kids got off the school bus, I took them to the river to go swimming; a rare occasion for mid-September.  It was a favorite place to us for many reasons, but  I, particularly, was amazed by the fact that when I stood in a certain spot there in the river, I could look around me in every direction and all signs of civilization were hidden from view -- no roads, houses, wires -- not even in the distance.  [I always thought it was an awsome sight to behold and I found it thrilling to feel like I was catching glimpses of 'untouched' landscape similar to what our former inhabitants, the Delaware Indians, had seen.  The reason for their reverence of the land is, indeed, apparant to me.]  What a memorable day that turned out to be!  As we waded out into the river, we were treated to a grand display of brightly colored leaves floating all around us and the reflection of the vibrant mountains, flawlessly mirrored in the quiet sheen of the crystal clear water was an absolutely breathtaking spiritual experience!  I thought about how I had almost resisted the spontaneity of the idea to drop everything and go to the river.  (There were too many things we should be doing, like homework, making dinner, etc., to be so impulsive.)  "I made the right choice," I decided, once there, and it gave me a chill to think how close I had come to missing out on those treasured moments.  I had taken the time to carefully watch a red leaf as it approached me.  It brushed up against my arm as it floated by and I watched it drift downstream until it was out of sight.  "I'm going to tuck this away forever," I thought, and that is what I have done.  I call them "mental pictures," absorbing a moment in time and filing it away in one of the private 'albumns' of my mind, where I can view it at will, anytime, anywhere.  Around this time of year, I have always recalled that long ago day.  I can 'see' every detail of that red leaf, still, and sometimes I wonder about the rest of its sojourn on the Delaware.  Do you suppose it sailed all the way to Philadelphia, carrying the DNA from my arm with it?  If so, does that mean that I, in a sense, made that journey, too?  Who's to say where reality and essence divide?  Or if the division is complete or intertwined?

 

Today's reality is that I am leaving my car cares behind me and that the endeavor I am most eager for is to roll some big stumps around and arrange them in a circle around the fire pit.  This, most definitely, is of highest priority on my ‘fall readiness’ list – even above having the heating system checked.  I’m looking forward to bonfires on crisp, autumn evenings!  Sometimes I wonder what the little woodland critters think of me.  They don’t seem to pause what they’re doing when I invade their world.  Maybe they’re so busy, they don’t notice me at all.  Maybe they think I’m merely one of them, however oddly so.  If that’s the case, I feel honored to be welcome in their wholesome, unassuming, busy world!
 

I wonder if they “sleep in” on Saturday’s, too……………………………..?     

Blessings enough. . .

 7:00 PM......

Whew!  Lawn's mowed.  Or should I say "field."  It was so high, there were daisies blooming in it!  First, I had to pump up a tire, using a bicycle pump (because I'm afraid of the air compressor...one of these days I'll tackle that.)  The oil in the mower was very low so I made a dash to town to buy some...but only after verifying with one of my sons-in-law the online research I had done so I wouldn't feel like an idiot when I made the purchase.  That may sound odd, but I've never had reason to buy motor oil; I guess I thought all home garages and workshops came automatically stocked with endless supplies of all that kind of stuff!  At the auto parts store, still in my grungy apple-picking clothes, work boots & gloves, and sun visor, I saunter up to the counter and say, confidently, "I'd like some 30-weight motor oil."  I had no idea what that meant; I was just repeating the words my son-in-law told me to say.  "Do you want it with detergent or without?" the nice gentleman asks.  ... Huh?!  Since my ignorant self had already been outed, there was no point in my trying to save face.  "I have no idea," I admitted, still puzzled.  I can't say I understand all of what followed, but I did come home with motor oil and I have learned two things: 1.) I do NOT need the kind with detergent and 2.) you should always use the same kind, whether with detergent or without, and you should never mix them.  

The mowing process was going smoothly until a tree root that I didn't see in the high grass got wedged between my front tire and the wheel on the mower deck.  I was stuck; unable to go forward or in reverse.  Now what?!  "Where there's a will, there's a way," I decided,  and by golly, after a few tries I was able to lift that mower up enough to get the little wheel to set on top of the root and that was all that was needed.  I hopped on and finished the job.

Now I am hungry and, realizing that for the past day or so I have only eaten apples, applesauce, apple crisp, and apple pie - spaghetti is really hitting the spot.  The way I am wolfing it down will probably result in some serious indigestion in the middle of the night but right now, I don't care.

The grass has been mown, the kitchen sink is full of clean, fresh apples, and the deer are contentedly munching the peelings I left for them out under the apple trees. 

Blessings enough for one day, I'd say......

Pendulum ride. . .

I seem to be struggling these days to find the stamina to keep abreast of this summer's emotional roller coaster.  I call it "keeping my head above water."  I have felt my vitality ebb and flow as if it were riding on a pendulum in full swing.  The 'highs' have been oh, so exhilaratingly thrilling and the 'lows' have been oh, so anxiously stressful, and full of sadness!  But then, that's the reality of life and its parallels, isn't it?  And I don't recall a guarantee anywhere in any of God's promises that would indicate that those parallels would be doled out in equal increments in accordance with what we might deem 'fair.'   Then, what would we learn?  How would we grow?  And what would be the point? 

Thankfully, for the most part, I have learned to be tuned in to the warning signs that occur whenever I am about to hop on that 'pendulum.'  Most of the time, that is.  Sometimes (like now) I have been so immersed in my own busyness that the ride had already begun before I realized I am a passenger!  When that happens, I know it's time to practice what I preach, so to speak, and to start using the 'tools' that have been so carefully honed; the ones that will rebuild the power of positive thinking tower.  So...lately, even though it may appear that I have been functioning in business-as-usual mode, I have actually been "holed up" inside (literally as well as metaphorically) using my 'tools' and reminding myself that I am responsible for my own choices.  When in doubt, I simply choose thankfulness because there is always, always something to be thankful for.  

There is no doubt in my mind that I will emerge at some point with a reasonable facsimile of my usual energy intact.  I do hope it's soon, though, because this 'swim' is taking too long and my head is getting tired! 

Maybe the turning point is here; I did shove myself outside to wrestle with an overgrown barberry bush today......and judging by the heap of prunings I had, I think I won!  That's always a good sign.  

       

Dawn patrol. . .

Cloudy mornings confuse me by suspending my psyche within the early morning hours while the day dances merrily along its way. I think the same must be true of "Neighbor Cat" who is making his dawn patrol now, during late morning.



"Neighbor Cat" pauses his chipmunk hunt long enough to peer at the frog who has taken up residence in my little garden pond.

A morning's glimpses. . .

...back home from Chapel.  What a beautiful summer morning!  My front sidewalk was crawling with activity when I went out to get in the car.  There were twenty-one brown, slimy slugs, one bright orange lizard, thousands of little tiny ants and a pattern of muddy paw prints.  Since mine are indoor cats, I assume the paw prints came from my buddy, Neighbor Cat, checking out my bird situation.  I wish he would zero in on the pesky chipmunk that has taken up residence on my back porch and gets continually more destructive and brazen with each passing day! 

I learned my lesson many years ago where "cute rodents" are concerned when I began feeding a couple of 'sweet' gray squirrels with strikingly sad eyes and magnificent fluffy tails.  Bob said, "You better not do that...you'll be sorry."  But...it was so much fun and they were so cute, I just couldn't resist.  "Besides," I thought, "he's probably just saying that."  (I had visions of Snow White illustrations.  You know...she's lost in the woods...surrounded by a menagerie of compassionate forest creatures.)  Well, I should have listened because Bob was right and I became very sorry, indeed.   My compassionate squirrels managed to send word out to all their relatives that a gullible food supplier now resided in French Woods.  In a mere matter of days my few fluffy friends with the sad eyes multiplied many-fold.  They came by the dozens every morning, from all directions.  Droves of them would scratch on my front door, scraping at the paint and if I ignored them, they would divide the troops into platoons that would target a window or two.  There they would run back and forth, pausing occasionally to peek in at me while smearing the panes with mud and scratches.  One of them didn't even have a tail!  A squirrel without a tail is nothing to look at, believe me.  Without their 'plume,' they are really nothing at all. I don't know how or when it happened but they also somehow managed to transform themselves into scruffy looking demons with greedy, beady eyes and, remembering having seen the (then less than ten year old) movie, "The Birds,"  I actually began to feel afraid of my former squirrel pets.  My fear was compounded, of course, when Bob assured me that it was highly likely that they would chew their way inside if I did not feed them.  I was being held captive.  It was a nightmare!  As I recall, Bob may have also said, "I told you so."  He wanted to shoot them.  I wouldn't hear of it.  How would I live with my guilt?  I didn't care if they "tasted like chicken."  A short time later, however, the little vermin crossed a line...literally -- my clothesline.  In search of nesting material, I suppose, they chewed up T-shirts and the kids' pajamas but the last straw for me was the big hole they chewed in my child's (hand made by her great-grandmother) crib quilt!!  I was angry! War was declared.

I never was entirely comfortable with the stiff little skinned carcasses in our freezer but I do rightfully demand some credit for my attempts to adapt.  I did taste some of the squirrel meat once and although it actually did taste like chicken, it was a little hard for me to get past the fact that I knew it was NOT.  Shortly after that I had my next squirrel cooking experience that turned out to be my last.  After I thawed it out, I made the mistake of picking the little bugger up by the armpits as you would a child.  I had such a strong involuntary emotional response that it has never left me.  To this day, I still avoid lifting a whole chicken or turkey that way.  It's a wonder that I didn't become a vegetarian after the experience but I didn't.  However, neither does it daunt me to sic the cats on uninvited varmints.

...so what's the lesson here?  How do I come full circle with a beautiful summer morning and siccing cats on rodents?  A grandfather once taught me, Biblically, how to find the placement for animals in the world God has made and although I cannot remember his words, the lesson learned is still with me and has often been a valuable resource to call upon.  Maybe someday I'll write about that.

For now, once again, I find myself thankful......for summer days, for memories, for laughter, for lessons learned and those yet to be learned, for the gift of faith that does not waver...no matter what. 

Summer. . .

I thought I would take a leisurely stroll around outside before calling it a day but I have found that I am incapable of doing so without resorting to pruning, weeding, rearranging rocks, or the like.  I used to think that all the time I spent doing yardwork was in an effort to create a soothing setting in which to relax.  Now I have begun to realize that it's the peaceful therapeutic puttering that I crave; not the relaxation.

This has been an idyllic summer day -- sunny, hot, hazy and humid.  I love summer -- the way it sounds, smells and looks.  Especially when it has been just a tad bit too dry, the dirt roads are dusty and the hay fields have been cut.  It is, to me, as magical as crisp, fresh fallen snow in winter.  

Just a few minutes ago, even though I couldn't see through the trees, I'm sure there must have been one glorious rainbow!  Without any warning, the sky opened up and gave way to a downpour while the sun never even "blinked."  It was so unexpected that at first I wasn't sure what I was hearing.  It didn't last long though.  If not for a leftover droplet here and there and the excitement of the birds, it would be as if it never happened.

Maybe tomorrow I'll take another leisurely stroll and finish pulling those weeds that are invading my current bush and choking out the myrtle!