Life and Times at Cranberry Lake

This blog is about the life, wild and otherwise, in this immediate area of Northeast Pennsylvania. I hope you can join me and hopefully realize and value that common bond we share with all living things... from the insect, spider, to the birds and the bears... as well as that part of our spirit that wishes to be wild and free.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

First Graders Modernize Old Adages:

I got this forwarded to me in my email this morning. I thought some of these profound; some of these probably overheard by adults[especially the last; and some of these affected by the times the modern six year old is experiencing; and all of these quite funny:

A 1st grade school teacher had twenty-six students in her class. She presented each child in her classroom the 1st half of a well-known proverb and asked them to come up with the remainder of the proverb. It's hard to believe these were actually done by first graders. Their insight may surprise you. While reading, keep in mind that these are first-graders, 6-year-olds, because the last one is a classic!

1. Don't change horses... until they stop running.

2. Strike while the... bug is close.

3. It's always darkest before... Daylight Saving Time.

4. Never underestimate the power of... termites.

5. You can lead a horse to water but... How?

6. Don't bite the hand that... looks dirty.

7. No news is... impossible

8. A miss is as good as a... Mr.

9. You can't teach an old dog new... Math

10. If you lie down with dogs, you'll... stink in the morning.

11. Love all, trust... Me.

12. The pen is mightier than the... pigs.

13. An idle mind is... the best way to relax.

14. Where there's smoke there's... pollution.

15. Happy the bride who... gets all the presents.

16. A penny saved is... not much.

17. Two's company, three's...the Musketeers.

18. Don't put off till tomorrow what... you put on to go to bed.

19. Laugh and the whole world laughs with you, cry and... You have to blow your nose.

20. There are none so blind as... Stevie Wonder.

21. Children should be seen and not... spanked or grounded.

22. If at first you don't succeed... get new batteries.

23. You get out of something only what you... See in the picture on the box

24. When the blind lead the blind... get out of the way.

25. A bird in the hand... is going to poop on you.

And the WINNER and last one!

26. Better late than... Pregnant

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Class Reunion

I'm sure most people have gone to at least one of their class reunions. I think I've mentioned before how I view life. It's as if one life ends when I go on to another... for me there's no looking back: Kind of like acts of a play, and as soon as I'm through one act, the curtain draws, and I'm on to my next one.

I first noticed that curtain between one life and another when on vacation to Peakes Island, Maine. It always seemed to rain the day of travel, and the rain seemed like a curtain falling on my pimples and problems of my awkward teenaged years in Woburn, and on the ferry ride from Portland to Peakes was like a curtain lifting on a very different life--One where I could be myself--A life where I didn't have to worry about what others thought of me. It was so freeing. I so loved Peakes that now I don't dare go back for fear it would whitewash those memories of the place, as it did when I visited my old home in Woburn. I like to lock up my good memories safely so I can take them out whenever I want and look at them through the eyes of whom I was at that time.

It's the 50th Reunion! I can't believe I'm that old. And I guess if I attended, I'd have a better grasp on the reality of that fact... but I don't know if I want to whitewash all those old memories of my friends--those with whom I don't know what would have happened if they weren't there for me through some of the most difficult years of my life. It may be worse than my seeing the old house and it's lost stomping grounds which seemed to change to something unrecognizable. Here's some parts of the emails between the 50th High School reunion committee.

To the initial contact, this was my gut reaction when told wrote:

"... I doubt if I'll ever go to a reunion... don't even keep up with the Lucky Six Plus Club members of back then in the dark ages. I hated all 12 years of school. In earlier blogs it may have been discussed... they are probably since then deleted." [I was referring to the boys teasing me as a teenager, and it took me many many years to forgive them.]
[I summed up my life briefly]:
"I got a job with Braniff Airways; worked in the teletype room; and married my first husband in 1962, and bought a house in Norwalk, Conn., where we resided about a year and a half. Had my first baby in 1963, a boy... had my 2nd, a girl, in Conn. in 1964; and then moved to Vestal, NY where had my last child, a boy, in 1968. I resided and lived there until my separation in 1980, and divorced in '85, and married the love of my life, Tom, in the same year, and we'll have our 23rd anniversary this November. I have 2 stepchildren whom I love dearly. All five children are married with children of their own... giving us a total of 14 grandchildren."
[This classmate found me via my blog]:
"As you can see from my blog, life is good, and I'm still that pony-tailed girl inside, pony-tailed woman on the outside, with the same interests in life... anything but school... mostly just the good ol' outdoors." ["... and," I should have added, "... writing."]

[I heard back from him. He was about the only boy in some of my classes who never teased me...
His email back ended like this:
"I remember you from school but also from council of churches events and there was that play or skit at your Congregational Church where you portrayed a country type girl. i guess that was an apt role."

I didn't even remember that role. But here's part of my email back to him:
"...Keep me up to date with this reunion. It occurred to me AFTER I wrote that it will be our 50th. I kept going over the figures in my head. It didn't seem possible that it was 50 years ago. I doubt if my husband would want to make the trip. I have a brother in Burlington, and I could stay there if we attended. Let whomever is sending out the info in on where I live: Thanks.
I also was thinking, 'I hate to have others see how I've aged' but so has everyone else, and if I look older than them, it will only make them feel better about how age has treated them.
Thanks for getting in touch."
-----
As you can see... I was reneging. I realized for the first time--maybe ever--that I still loved and cared about my old friends. It's always nice to be remembered. But, I wondered if that would be enough. Who did I really WANT to see. Or did I really want to even see those old friends that I truly loved. It would be difficult then to remember them from that "act" of my life where on that stage they were teenagers and would stay that way in my thoughts, if I didn't ruin my memories with an update after all these years.

So, at my book club last week, where most of the others are around my age give or take 5-10 years, I asked them about reunions. I don't think but one liked their reunions, and the husbands hated them, of course, as they knew no one, and couldn't stand when she and her old girlfriends would get together and reminisce about things the husband had no part of. I know only too well the difficulty of feeling left out, and don't want my husband to go through that. I also know he would hate me to go alone. Although it's ridiculous for him to think it, I'm sure he thinks that old boyfriends are lined up to get a glimpse of me entering the ballroom door at the Woburn Country Club. His vision of this is different from my vision of that if anyone cared. I could picture the one or two who may or may not have had a crush on me watching for my appearance and wanting this old lady to get out of the way so they could catch the glimpse of the pony-tailed gal in a poodle skirt and white buck shoes they remembered from High School.

No... not only do I want to remember my friends as they were... and check the old yellowed yearbook if I forget, but I want them to remember me the same way. They would then not have to accept the fact that the old lady in the way at the ballroom WAS that "Chantilly Lace with funny face... with the pony tail hanging down..." And when they think of me, they can think of themselves at that young handsome age also.

Dream on.

Saturday, September 06, 2008

Evening Walk

I just came back from the Lake. The evening is soggy wet. I saw a tiny little toad hop out of my way... probably an inch long at the most. I made him sit on my palm with the back of my hand against the ground, holding very still so he'd stay, and he did for a few seconds... he probably sopped up my warmth, then hopped on. I thought about it... he has a long long way to go before becoming a sizable toad... Probably many die before getting anywhere near becoming an adult toad from too many ways to count. I imagine from its mother's eggs, hundreds of siblings were born, enough so there would be some survival to adulthood. It made me appreciate a larger toad I was to see later coming back from my walk. He must have been lucky, as they don't have much protection. There used to be a big toad that would sit under the light under the balcony on buggy summer nights. The dogs would get excited seeing it, but I'd be strict with them, as, not only didn't I want anything to happen to the toad (anything that kills annoying insects is my friend!), but the dogs could get sick just picking up a toad... carrying it around in it's mouth, as they have glands that secrete something that makes them sick.

On an earlier walk with Tom, I heard a tree toad chirping... probably a "three toed tree toad." Try saying that fast. Better yet, get a young child to say it. They love tongue twisters. Tom thought it was a bird, but there is a difference in their call... a kind of rasp or tiny high pitched croak... very much like a cricket. Once I saw one... only once. You either have to be lucky or diligent to find one. The adult tree toad's body is only about an inch long... I know this from observations. The one I saw was beige, and delicately marked with darker beige as if to accent the frog-like shape of its body. We couldn't locate today's toad, as it was somewhere above us in the wet tree branches. They are now peeping at night like the Spring peepers. I hadn't realized it until Tom brought my attention to it, as I have tinnitus, and for me it's like crickets in the background all year long. I don't know if the tree toads get together before doing whatever they do to survive the winter... maybe they even have another generation before summer's over. I know they aren't crickets, as you cannot single out a chirp to gauge how warm or cool it is. My father could do that with crickets. Maybe I wiped out all the crickets around here years ago when I had my first batch of Aracauna chickens. I would loosen the rocks around the round rock garden lifting one carefully but quickly, and Chipper, a female broody hen would snap up all crickets before they could scrabble or hop away. I was pulling weeds when I first tried this, and if out near the garden, she would come running and I knew why. She would look at me like and cluck as if saying, "Well, come on! Let's look for crickets!"

It was just Bear and Polly with me on this evening's walk, and Bear is either busy digging a hole here and there, and anywhere; or he's walking along the path carrying a very long branch. I couldn't play with him easily as a pup. He was born hyper-active, I swear, and to play ball or just about anything would excite him too much. As it is, he reminds me of the song about Tigger the Tiger from Winnie the Poo. He was just a bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy fun, fun, fun, fun... pup, and as the end of the tune goes, "But the most wonderful thing about Tigger is He's the ONLY ONE." And I thank God he's the ONLY ONE of my long string of dogs that has been as hyper. He overwhelms me with his energy and zest. It's a good thing to be so eager to do things, I guess, but he should be called Yo-Yo, as he still jumps up and down like one at the door each and every time I approach an exit to the house. He wants to be outside ALL THE TIME, but NEVER wants to be alone... And he's fixated on ME, not Tom, whose dog he really is, so even if Tom is going for a walk, he won't go unless I'm asleep or not at home... And then, just maybe.

I think because I couldn't "play with" Bear, he has invented games for himself. His digging isn't without purpose, as I believe he hears mice, moles, or voles traveling their underground routes through the roots and under the matted floor of the woods. But his digging is compulsive, and that bothers me, so I find myself yelling at him even if there's no reason. I don't like him to dig on my path, so I shouldn't yell at him unless he's doing that. I think I'm sensitive about compulsiveness, as, recently I've found many areas whereas I am compulsive. I'm using the feeling of "having to do something right now" as a cue, to be aware I'm being compulsive, and don't really have to be... for instance, it doesn't matter if I find the answer to a Free Cell solitaire game now or later; or complete a crossword puzzle at one sitting. [I'll bet Tom wouldn't mind me being as compulsive about housekeeping, ha, ha.] What I don't mind Bear's doing--which reminds me of some computer game--is to pick up an eight foot long branch and walk the path. He is getting very adept at dodging the close set trees and bushes, and he knows how to jockey it around the trees or to walk off the path where there's room to get through. He was a marvel tonight. I should take a video of him and put it on YouTube. Maybe I'll be able to do that someday... someday when I get compulsive about it.