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.

Tuesday, July 01, 2014

My Life (Written about 5-6 years ago):

No one knows what it's like to be under my skin and seeing the world through my eyes. No one knows how I feel when someone smiles in my direction, or when someone says just the nicest thing.  But no one knows how it hurts when I worry about this nation and all the problems it faces.  No one realizes what I go through when they begin lecturing me on the Constitution; telling me why the Republican Party is better than the Democratic Party, and tells me it is us, not the Republicans, who made this country so divided.  I don't know how to reply.  I'll be damned before I'll research their slant on politics to the tune of reading hundreds of books, and going to Tea Parties that have nothing to do with tea with lemon, just to prove to them and myself that I'm right and they are wrong, and I'm sure that they wouldn't either if I was the one tooting my own political horn.

When I awake in the morning, I usually turn and look out the window.  I can see the tops of the trees in the woods of our land.  I can see the sun upon them and they are pretty against the sky even in the winter.  I can tell if it's going to be a windy day, as those trees will register the slightest stir of a balmy breeze, and when it's really windy, they do a dance that looks like they are  going to break each other's boughs.

I can hear the voices on TV muffled by the closed doors to the bedroom.  Tom always gets up earlier than myself.  I thought he minded my wanting to sleep in when we first got married, and I guess he did, as he had to go to work, and though I worked as a nurse it was only 3 or 4 days a week as a relief nurse, it was a later but full shift.  But since he retired, he has had the routine of rising first, and taking the dog with him when he goes down to get the paper.  At first he never watched TV during the day.  Then he'd only watch it for the noon news.  But as soon as the 5 o'clock news came on, the TV usually stays on until 11 or 11:30 p.m.  We watch TV in the evenings.  We rarely do anything else.  However, he takes me out to dinner every Thursday night; and out to breakfast every Sunday morning. [Now I put on noise blocking earmuffs and read if not interested in what's on TV.]

We got away from going to church when we bought the land where we now live.  If we were  coming up here on Sunday, we'd skip church and never miss it.  It seemed almost a spiritual thing to do in coming up to the land.  After moving here, we rarely went to church.  I've said to Tom that if I started going to church again, I'd probably go to the Catholic Church.  Mostly I think it's because I wouldn't get sucked into overdoing it on committees and such.  It seemed that the last two churches I belonged to sucked the spirit right out of me, rather than make my spirit grow, with loading too many responsibilities upon my shoulders--responsibilities, that, when asked, I was either too flattered or just couldn't say no because I've always had a problem saying no.

Speaking of doing whatever was asked of me, or feeling guilty if I didn't (and I've found  the guilt just as hard to live with as responsibility) I am now glad we have Caller's ID.  Wow.  What an invention.  Through checking the ID, I've got out of political calls, and charities wanting to suck my bank account dry until I'd become the "less fortunate."  When I'd see it was some 800 number, or a strange area code, that was the clue that it is probably some political group or charity calling.  If not, we'd be able to pick up or call back, if whomever it was left a message.

So, I'm awakening, and thinking about life, and have the radio set to go off in time for the Writer's Almanac.  I listen to what Garrison Keillor says about authors birthdays, their publications, some quotes and his poem for the day.  It seems to start off my day in the right direction.  If I get up before it comes on, I'll get myself a large mug of regular coffee: my "wake up juice", bring it back to the bedroom, stack my four or five pillow up against the window in back of the headboard, and reach for my coffee.  Usually Polly has come in sometime in the early morning.  One of us will have had to get up to let her in, as we keep Bear out, as he'd keep us awake.  He's a strange dog.  But Polly is a dear.  She'll come up from the bottom where she sleeps to the of the bed where Tom had slept .  Since we got the new mattress which sticks up higher than the footboard, we have to tuck in a large pillow between the mattress and the foot so Polly won't accidentally roll off the bed, or inadvertently be shoved should our foot stretch out when asleep...  it's happened, so we know what we are doing it for.

That saying, "When you start petting a dog, you've just got a job for life" or something like that, I do know this:  When I start petting Polly, she just doesn't want me to stop.  Usually as soon as I do, she'll turn over for me to rub her stomach.  Dogs do that.  I don't know why.  It's kind of cute with female dogs, but kind of awkward with males.

So, there I am with my mug of coffee and petting the dog in between taking sips, and listening to Garrison Keillor.  My day has started... my inner thoughts and my inner world have awoken to a new day.

[The morning still begins the same way, but Polly died last December, and Bear now sleeps under the bed and sometimes joins me like Polly did while I listen to the Writer's Almanac.]