Old Attic
A discussion in my online community about lucid dreaming triggered a dream experience for me that occurred early Thursday morning. It has been a long, long time since I realized within a dream that I was dreaming.
In this instance, my memory of the beginning of the dream included a vision of what looked like the attic door of our old farmhouse. It had a padlock on it, but the latch was open. I approached the door and reached for the knob, and it opened! Inside, instead of the storage shelves I remember, the room was furnished like a 1950s living room with a television on spindle legs. I was able to step in and walk a short circle around the room, noticing a shiny black grand piano on my left as I turned toward the door again. As I passed it, I wondered if it would make a sound if I pressed the keys, so I stepped back to get in front of it, and as I reached for the keys, the piano had morphed into an organ. I noticed there were both yellow and white keys, and I pressed a couple in succession. It didn’t make a piano sound, but it produced tones I was able to hear, soft like an unplugged electric guitar.
1967 Aerial View, house and barns
In my lucid excitement over being in our old house, I wondered if I would be able to explore other rooms and go downstairs. Unfortunately, the sound of a siren (unknown whether actual or dreamt) changed the focus of the dream to a new scenario. I followed the new thread, which had nothing to do with the farmhouse anymore, and enjoyed a continued sense of lucidity throughout the rest of the dream.
Lucid dreaming allows for more controlled decisions within the situations that arise. There is a rewarding sense of superiority that arises in knowing you are dreaming while experiencing your dream.
The feeling I remember most from the whole dream was the big thrill of the moment I “saw” that I was in our old farmhouse, a dwelling that was demolished in 1969. I have a suspicion that it was that rush that triggered the slight transition to being able to sense that I was dreaming. It’s too bad I didn’t have a chance to revisit more of the house.
Of course, it being a dream, who knows what I would have discovered in the other rooms. The dreamed attic certainly didn’t bear any similarities to what it really looked like behind that door.
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Happiness Is
Happiness is: getting multiple piles of compost tossed, watered down, and reshaped for further processing and able to be ignored for days.
Happiness is: getting the tall green grass mowed while minimizing driving over the brittle, roasted portions everywhere else.
Happiness is: finding a new use for a teapot that the house sitter accidentally let boil dry, leaving it damaged beyond repair. (!)
Happiness is: seeing our dog meandering near me as I mowed while Cyndie is on dog watch and witnessing him suddenly sprint off in her direction when he heard the beeping tone on his e-collar indicating Cyndie was calling for him. Good dog!
Happiness is: sending an interesting article to Julian via text and receiving an even more interesting article from him in response.
Happiness is: hearing Elysa checking in with Cyndie over the phone and knowing she will be getting herself up to the lake place over the weekend.
Happiness is: group texting where one message reaches everyone successfully, regardless of where they may be.
Happiness is: having an air-conditioned home for relief after laboring for hours in high heat.
Happiness is: the sound of laughter from Cyndie on a phone call with her brothers.
Happiness is: being able to accept an overnight invitation to visit friends out of town.
Happiness is: receiving a positive rsvp to an invitation sent to old friends for them to come for a visit to Wintervale.
Happiness is: hearing a rare cut I don’t recognize from one of my long-time favorite singer-songwriters.
Happiness is: succeeding in manipulating pre-formatted website software into something that aligns with our sensibilities.
Happiness is: something that can be cultivated with intentional effort if a person puts their mind to it.
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Proud Again
At quarter to one, we put Asher in the car and drove up to our township voting location at the town hall. After Cyndie and I cast our ballots in Wisconsin’s primary election, I left Cyndie to fulfill her volunteer role as a poll worker. Asher and I had the place to ourselves for the rest of the day.
We didn’t choose to harvest the chicken of the woods mushrooms that sprouted while we were up at the lake.
There sure are a lot of ‘em. Cyndie was looking through the many ways to prepare them last night. I think we’re going to give it a go this time. We picked some last year when a friend first pointed them out to us, but never got around to eating them.
Asher and I walked the grass trails to assess the percentage of mowing that is needed. I find it extremely frustrating because there are places where the grass is completely dried out and dormant, but then a small section where it’s getting ridiculously tall.
I will need to drive over the dormant grass to reach the portion that needs cutting, but I try really hard to stay off the sunburned sections.
Well after dark, Asher and I drove back to the town hall to pick up our intrepid volunteer. She had a good day and gained new insights about fellow citizens of our township and about the details involved in supervising voting. There are so many layers of checks and balances that the validity of the outcomes can be confidently assured.
It was a rewarding exercise in civic participation. I’m excited that she has made new connections with more people from the township than we had in the previous 13 years we’ve lived here.
This is all because a couple of elections ago, we were surprised to find one of the poll workers in our township was someone we knew from our school days in Eden Prairie. We had no idea she lived close to us. We’ve connected many times since, and this eventually led to Cyndie choosing to pursue the steps to get certified to perform the duties of facilitating elections.
She thanks me for supporting her efforts, but that’s easy compared to the amount of time and study she has put into becoming an election inspector. She makes me proud. Again.
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Fading Light
Not all sunsets are spectacular scenes, but that one looks like there is some symbolism occurring. Cyndie captured the weird sky on her last walk of the day with Asher. We are home from the lake! The drought continues to wither most of our grass to within a slim margin of its life, so there’s not much urgency to mow.
My partner in ranch operations has requested I mow the hay field to knock down the weeds since we were informed the neighbor won’t be attempting a second cut of hay. I guess now is as good a time as any. Diesel fuel probably won’t get cheaper any time soon.
Today is Wisconsin’s primary election to determine candidates for November’s general election. I don’t usually vote in primary elections because I am unaffiliated with any political parties. Cyndie has volunteered to be a poll worker and will be putting in a long shift from noon until after the polls close this evening. She wants me to vote since Wisconsin primary elections are open and I can choose any party, as long as I stick to just one.
I’m more inclined to let each party hash it out among themselves, and then I’ll weigh in after they show me which candidate they have to offer for November.
I will not deny that the pessimist in me fears our democracy is a fading light. I wish I could believe that our elections will get us out of the mess the current administration has created, but both main parties are responsible because none of the people in office with a lick of sense has figured out a way to curtail the insanity. Merely saying they object without doing anything about the daily malfeasance has gotten nowhere.
It would be great if any campaign promises to fix what is broken by getting elected in the midterm election actually came true, but there isn’t a great track record throughout our country’s history to inspire hope from the usual rhetoric.
Getting to rub our dog and the horses again after four days away was a welcome portion of my otherwise uneventful day. Asher’s coat smells like he rolled in something stinky, and the mares were all business at feeding time, but seemed happy to see us bringing a return to the usual routine.
Our health and safety feel all the more precious after viewing videos of Colombia’s powerful earthquake as it was happening. That’s something that cell phones with quality camera features have made a powerful impact on for newsworthy events. I have never been in an earthquake, but seeing videos recorded during quakes that were happening in Venezuela in June and now the one in Colombia yesterday has given me a more intense sense of what it must be like.
The ever-increasing prevalence of surveillance cameras has also recorded as-it-happens depictions of the shaking that have been very informative for me.
I suppose people living through major earthquakes are equally impacted by watching the increasing numbers of tornado videos getting posted these days.
The drought we are suffering in our region isn’t nearly as dramatic. You won’t find many videos of grass slowly getting burned to a crisp by the sun.
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Fun Moments
A few highlights from this weekend at the lake with Cyndie and her mom:
- Cyndie surprised us with some letters she recently uncovered in our archives at home while she was looking for something else. There were almost a dozen, still in their stamped envelopes, written to her by her family while Cyndie was going to school in Spain back in 1977. The amount of detail that Marie (unsurprisingly) wrote gave us a fascinating window into that time of our past. Cyndie had grand plans to have a friend join her after the school session ended to travel around Europe, but had to scrap that adventure when she became dangerously ill and had to return home. Apparently it was wicked cold in the Twin Cities that winter, and the high school hockey team Steve played with was having a winning season. Those subjects were among several that received repeated mentions.
- I spent a chunk of time working on a website for my high school class that we will use in promoting our 50th reunion next summer. Using text messaging to communicate ideas and get feedback from my sub-committee back in the Twin Cities, I was able to make good progress on customizing a pre-formatted site from a service into something more aligned with our sensibilities. You know, changing corny into cool. My classmates deserve something that better reflects who we were back in the 1970s, when “All in the Family” and “M*A*S*H” were on television. That was back when our generation figured we were going to change the… Never mind.
- Yesterday afternoon, when I found myself getting nowhere in a struggle to outsmart the site’s formatting, I phoned my software-savvy son, Julian, for advice. We linked up so he could see my screen, allowing him to guide my explorations as we unraveled how the available features could be coped with to achieve my goals. It seemed promising when he discovered I could open a view of the source code. Using his code-writing skills, he would text me a block of code to insert into my draft. It is such a thrill when progress is made. I laughed out loud over the fact that we were pulling off our successes with him at home in the Cities, and me on a laptop in the sunroom at the lake. Alas, in the end, I had to settle for a compromise from my ideal when it became obvious that the host software was overriding our customizations at a certain point.
Now that I think on it, this isn’t much different than the battles I wage against the regular “upgrades” to my WordPress platform that are intended to make it easier to use but often end up preventing me from executing the preferred formatting I’ve been using for years. It’s tough being a dinosaur in today’s world.
[insert Tyrannosaurus rex roar here]
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Happily Ensconced
Barely suppressing feelings of undeservedness, I am happily ensconced in the sunroom of the lake house with the 9th and final stage of the Tour de France Femmes on my computer while hoards of hummingbirds dance around the two feeders hanging under the eaves.
I am well aware of how lucky I am to have a place like this; a world away from Nice, France, where the women bicycling athletes are waging a heroic battle in brutally extreme heat, climbing the same peak four times in a row in this last stage of the race, while I recline in the cool morning air overlooking the lake.
A good life, indeed.
A postcard experience, in fact. I’m having a wonderful time. Wish you were here!
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Reorienting Optimal
Pursuing optimal health is a noble goal, but one where “optimal” isn’t a static state. It changes over time. Physical health can change significantly as we age, so what was optimal for me during my athletic peak isn’t a realistic goal for me anymore. My current optimal involves less speed and agility and more rest and recovery.
Same thing goes for my mental health. I stopped playing guitar not only because of benign hand tremors and pain in my hands, arms, and shoulders, but also because I could no longer remember all the chords or verses of songs I played and sang for all the years before. My fading memory and physical discomfort made playing less rewarding for me.
So, my version of optimal health has morphed from playing guitar to an increased appreciation for listening to my library catalog of musical artists who have inspired me over a lifetime. It allows me to cultivate more love for other musicians rather than dwelling on frustration or sadness about relegating my hobby to the past.
Since I believe that love can be telepathically beamed to others, I acknowledge that negative thoughts and feelings would just as easily get projected into the world. It would be great if I didn’t do that, but when confronted with evidence of the awful things people can do to others, my reactions are involuntary. It creates a train of thought that takes commitment to interrupt.
That is something I have some experience doing. Long ago, I learned to recognize and redirect the dysfunctional thinking of depression as a method of defeating the disease. Overcoming depression is probably the most significant stride I’ve taken toward my optimal health.
Learning of people I know who are dealing with memory loss, I am confronted with the question of how “optimal” gets reoriented when our faculties become diminished. What is optimal mental health for a person in that stage of life? You can’t focus on what is no longer possible. Energy needs to be directed toward what is achievable in the here and now.
My here-and-now involves being back at the lake in Hayward, WI, with Cyndie and her mom. We tried to visit a restaurant we remembered well for a Friday fish fry last night, but to our surprise, it had closed last fall. After we dealt with the confusion, the next easiest option was The Steakhouse & Lodge next door, which we’d never been to before. A good time was had by all. I ate too much because it was so delicious.
I should reorient my optimal diet back to healthy portions when eating out. Let me just put that on the list of things I’m trying to remember as aging messes with my metabolism.
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Distinction
.
waiting
for the time
I forgot
all the reasons
why
and why not
all the lights
are constantly aglow
through the night
near the city
by the boats
where the trees
refuse to live
and weeds compete
to survive the longest
as life forms tend to do
striving to thrive
against the ongoing threat
of distinction
while pretending
to be hiding
in everyone’s plain sight
in the broad daylight
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Disappearing Branches
As planned, we spent the bulk of our day yesterday sawing, hauling, and sweating while trying to avoid the poison ivy and scary-looking flying insects that seemed to have an invested interest in the freshly exposed wood of the willow tree. There was evidence that carpenter ants had taken up residence in part of the decay that had been blasted open by the first large limb that gave way last summer.
I sure am glad I got the back pasture mowed the day before. We took another crack at cutting off the weeds before they could go to seed, hoping to give the grass of that field an ongoing advantage. Research revealed that mowing regularly can be the best way to prevent the pasture from being overtaken by undesirable weed propagation when purposely avoiding the use of toxic chemicals.
It always looks so great when freshly cut. Unsurprisingly, the weeds show up soon after because they grow taller faster than the grass. We repeatedly battle the emergence of Queen Anne’s Lace, Sour Dock, and Thistle among others.
With that mowing project behind me, it was all hand saws, chainsaws, and hauling yesterday.
That’s a lot of wood that needed cutting and even more long branches pointing in every direction that needed to be dragged away.
In all fairness regarding the state of Cyndie’s garden, the long, hot, dry spell we have suffered this summer is responsible for putting it under stress before the tree fell onto it. Smothering it with willow branches just made a bad situation worse.
I’ll close with a memory of how beautiful the garden was earlier this summer. Those were the days!
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Disintegrating Willow
Timberrrr! We weren’t there to witness the drama, but on a last walk of the day with Asher, Cyndie came upon this sight:
The third section of our big willow tree has collapsed before I even got around to cutting up the second one that fell.
The portion jutting to the left in the above image is the second one. The big chunk to the right just let go last evening.
It fell right on top of Cyndie’s “Elysa Garden” of perennials.
There will be no putting off the work of clearing this fallen portion. If the garden plants aren’t already smashed, I fear we will end up trampling them while doing battle with the chainsaw and extracting the cut sections.
It’s hard to trust the remaining portion that is still standing, but we are going to take our chances. I may cut off the one limb that is at an angle to leave just the one trunk that stands straight up.
We know what we will be doing today. Unfortunately, it wasn’t what we had planned.
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Relative Something 