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, July 31, 2013

THE DREAMS WE DREAM

Why is it we feel compelled to tell our dreams?

Like when we read a well written book, whether it's sad, or hopeful, or exciting, or suspenseful novel (as this happens mainly in novels or memoirs) we seem to enter a new world as if--where, when, and whatever is happening--we are participating as a spectator.  Sometimes the novel is exciting; or funny; or sad; or engrossing to the point you deny any interruptions if possible, and whenever someone does, you almost resent them for doing so, like a kid at play who--even if it's suppertime wants to finish whatever he's doing no matter how hungry he is.

A dream is like that, only one is more immersed in it, as you don't just feel things like a bystander, you feel like you are physically participating--And, in a way, you are.  It's a flight of fancy an author would want understand.  An author wants you to worry with the character; to laugh at the spectacle; to fear for those lives in danger; to feel the thrill of doing something you've never done before, or something you would love to do over and over again.  But, an author can't place YOU in a novel, that only a dream can convince of the experience.

Sometimes, as, In the Company of the Courtesan, by Sarah Dunant (I'm now reading), I would rather not imagine the horrors of war back in the sixteenth century when most was face to face--sword to sword--or with gunfire when close enough to see the bloody aftermath--close enough to see the surprise on their faces...as if they never expected to die, despite the fact they are in the midst of battle.  Like they would be the lucky ones who somehow missed the bullet or sword.  To be in such a scene physically is to be in a nightmare.  Yet, authors like Stephen King can suspend your sense of reality, and get you so engrossed in a book that you can believe the unbelievable, and feel the fear of the victims.  That kind of novel is read for the same reason one goes to a scary movie thriller which rises one adrenalin.  The relief of life not really being that scary when you put the book down, or get out of the movie, can actually bring on an exhilaration of relief.  Even a nightmare can do that, but its memory is that we were in that danger as if a reality... and we are left feeling low.

But back to dreams.  They are so loosely put together: today lying next to many years ago at a time in our youth.  Misplaced neighbors of the present as in my dream, living in the house next door as when I was a child.  The old and the recent mixed in a fantasy in which you participate--not just follow in your mind--as in a novel--but you ARE there (in your mind).  You see a black dog you recognize [though in reality it died a few years ago]... and like that crazy dog as a pup, it got so excited about something in a sloping tree that he somehow ran up the tree, and the tree falls as a result of its weight.  You run to see if the dog is okay.  Your now neighbor who is suffering a loss, has a daughter visiting who comes out to see what the ruckus is all about.  You feel the awkwardness of interrupting another's personal life on such a thing as this crazy dog.

Like a patchwork quilt of times, places, experiences, or just an invention of this blend causing a new experience that, however ridiculous it seems now when awake, wasn't while dreaming.  Dreams suspend that logic and disbelief for a short time, but when you awake, you want to tell someone about it... and they usually don't want to listen.  So many excuses to not wanting to hear about your dream.  All the dreamer wants is to share the emotions which were so inspired in oneself with the experience of the dream.  But, like explaining a novel that no one but ourself is interested in, your dream experience is now almost a letdown because  of another's not wanting to listen.

I heard that there are websites for dreamers who feel this way.  Where they could excitedly tell each other their dreams.  People who would 'listen'-through your writings of that fabulous [to you] dream...
...But would we really want to read about another's dream?  No.  We only want to tell about it, like a child's first experience at an amusement park--coming home to tell his mother about the wonder of something that took the child out of her or his regular world for a short while... It's own spaceship to the fantasyland one felt, saw, and participated in so the listener could also share in that pleasure and wonder.  But... The only way to feel that wonder, is aboard one's own dream.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

OOps I Left My Wallet...

"Why did they call us so late?" [It was 2 hrs. since I left the VFW.] "I hope someone didn't use MY Visions Visa."
I said, "Most people are honest."
"Honest people are far and few between."
"I think it's the OPPOSITE.  I don't know what world YOU live in, but in MY world, it's the DIShonest that are far and few between!"
"Who called You?"
"The bartender... He sounded just like my brother Tucker."
"What were you doing at the BAR!?"
"That's where you PAY.  I paid with MY wallet, not the food money... I must have dropped it there."
"You paid with YOUR card?"
"Now... money from my wallet."
"How could you have left your wallet if you paid with it... did you leave it on the bar?"

"I DON'T KNOW WHERE I LEFT IT... OR... I WOULDN'T HAVE LEFT IT!!
"I Don't know WHY you're angry with me.  It's not like I LEFT IT ON PURPOSE."

"There's no way we can check on our accounts.  I hope they didn't take advantage."

"WHY... DON'T YOU HAVE YOUR ACCOUNT ONLINE?  I HAVE TO JUMP THROUGH HOOPS TO GET TO IT, BUT I CAN CHECK my DISCOVER ...ANYTIME... ANYTIME I WORRY THAT THERE COULD BE SOMEONE USING MY DISCOVER CARD.

"I'm going down to the computer to check now."

[Went to check... no transactions pending since June 26th.  ...went back upstairs]

"No transactions pending on my card!"

Thus we broke the chain of days...perhaps months of feeling good about each other.  He's been very ...shall we say... cosy with me lately.  And then... THIS.  You'd think I'd done it on purpose.  I absolutely HATE it when my husband get angry with me.  It's usually for something that was innocent.  Like spending too much time on the phone talking with my closest girlfriend.  Like when I go shopping at the Town Sq. Mall in Vestal... I usually go to Walmart.... I seem to alway pick the wrong time and then take too much of it.  I should wait until he's asleep and go shopping after 11 p.m.

But... instead of saying "I'm glad they called you and you picked it up okay.  You must have been worried once they told you..."  Instead of being understanding... that I am human and this f-n human is going to make mistakes sometimes... NO he doesn't act understanding at all.  He's been leaving his wallet at home... getting all the way somewhere and finding out... having to cancel orders at check-out and come all the way home for it... it's happened over and over again.

"Next time YOU leave your WALLET... I'm going to get angry with YOU, AND SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT!  Maybe it could be a dangerous thing... to leave your wallet at home... when you need money and don't have it.  That could make me very angry!"

[I've been more than understanding, and leave him Post-It reminders at the door, and verbally if I remember myself.  Putting it in his back pocket aggravates his sciatica, and putting it in the front pocket just doesn't work... so he mostly leaves it on the counter unless he's going shopping or any distance, like down to Tunkhannock to his brother's place.

Nothing makes me angrier than unjust anger towards myself.  NOTHING!  Even if deserved, it just ruins my day.  Like the time I bumped the car in front of me in rush hour traffic... nothing rush about the bumper to bumper 3 mph traffic on route 128 in Burlington, MA.  Anyhow... she was livid!  I ...I simply was shaking.  I never had anyone that mad at me in my life.

Anger begets anger.  I can't say, "No two ways about it..." As it goes both ways.... instantaneously!
So... maybe it's adrenalin or just anger... but it's spoiled my perfectly good day.... AND his too... as he knows I'm pissed.  He even apologized.  But... If someone DID use his VISA, he would get angry at me all over again.

"Here!" says I.  "I'm putting my wallet next to yours on the counter.  I am not taking it with me when I go anywhere. I'll just take out my license and my own money or the change purse [where I put the food money]... I'll only take my card if I'm going to use it.  So THERE!'

[No reaction.  He's sorry, but quiet.  He knows if he brings it up, I'll get angry with him over and over.  I also am not very forgiving.]

We talked a little at dinner.... beans and franks.  Mostly about ketchup and mustard, and the comparison of hotdogs, as these were a new kind... "Not bad"  I said.  "These taste okay."  They were a different kind without preservatives, and quite lean.  I guess I was surprised.  He didn't respond... but he wouldn't have normally.  He's a quiet man.  I'm the chirpy one.

I think I'll take Bear for a sunset walk.  ALONE... that is... just with Bear.  I'll check on the chickens first.  The chickens are another story, and unless you're following me on Facebook, you don't know the story.  It involves a fox.

Sincerely,
Cranberry Jo


Wednesday, July 03, 2013

Journal Writing Winter 1977 "Solitude"

January, 1977.  Journal entry:

It's Friday night.  The kids are noisy.  They don't 'unnerve' me somehow but I worry about tomorrow night when Alb has friends in for a sleep over.  I tune in differently when others are here.  It makes me nervous!

Also, I'm not feeling well.  I slip into a warm tub, and I'm beginning to feel better.  The kids are quieting.  It's about 10˚F outside and blizzard conditions.  Somehow this makes me feel secure and comfortable.

My husband is going to Germany for IBM next week.  I'd probably panic on Sunday (getting him packed, etc.).

Now the water in the tub is off.  It was a soothing sound.  The mumble now of the TV is more disconcerting than soothing.  It's just loud enough to almost make out what it's saying, so I find myself straining without quite hearing.

I know I would not like a life of complete solitude, yet I wonder what would happen.  It may be like being in complete darkness---you wonder if the world is still there until you reach out and touch it.

If I had complete solitude, it would mean no phones, no cats stroking my legs for food--scratching the rug to signal, "time to go out!"  (It's not the master that trains the cat, it's the cat that trains the master.)

It would mean no dogs to walk, to wonder what they're barking at, no dogs to pick chicken off the bones for their scraps.  And no children, husband, friends or social life at all.  But, then, it would almost be like I never existed in the first place.  I'd just be taking up room.