To sleep…

I was always a good sleeper. There was never a problem for me getting up for school or work. But I’ve always been an active dreamer. I’ve read that we do dream almost every night, we just don’t always remember them.

The title of this post is stolen from Hamlet. “To sleep, perchance to dream.” Hamlet is thinking about death. I’m not. There was a great M*A*S*H episode called “Dreams” in which the character of Charles utters this famous line. Various dreams befall the main characters. It was unsettling but powerful.

Dreams may be calming and they may be upsetting. It’s their nature and the nature of the individual. Two nights ago I was visited by an old friend. The dream involved us working our day in the business world (it’s how we met) and then kicking up our heels after work. It was very pleasant.

We enjoyed taking short trips to Cape Cod. Hours spent sitting on the beach, walking, and talking endlessly were restorative. Many years ago I stumbled across Christmas ornaments, in the shape of large snowflakes, made from the sand of various beaches on the Cape. I bought two made from Nauset Beach sand. I gave her one and I kept the other. Each year when I put my tree up and take it down, I sit with the sand snowflake in my hand and reminisce.

My friend left this world, by her own choice, several years ago. I miss her. As with others who have left this realm, I think of her often. I chuckle at some of our past antics. Think of calling her on the phone. Wonder what she would think about lots of things.

It’s bittersweet. I smile and chuckle. I cry. Tears blur my vision now as I type. Overall I remember my good friend and that she truly embodied the qualities of a friend. I wish I could have done more to ease her pain. However, I know from watching my father’s alcoholism, it’s not up to others to “cure” a person. The individual must want to get better. She merely wanted to be with her loved ones in a better place. I can’t fault her for that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get frustrated because she chose to leave us. I get downright angry at times. Because I loved her and she was my friend. And she left.

But she visits me in dreams and I’m thankful for that. I have photos and memories, and an occasional chat at the nearby cemetery. Her smile and laugh are always with me.

“These dreams go on when I close my eyes/Every second of the night I live another life…”. Heart

Dream a little dream for me.

Winter at the cabin…

The cabin is a place that exists in my head but may someday be a dream come true. Time will tell. The cabin is out in the country and borders a wooded area. Over time, a large patio was added complete with a large rustic pergola. It was a great place for friends to gather. And I made certain we gathered often. At this stage of our lives, friendships could be fleeting.

On the last Saturday of the NFL regular season, we gathered. Some of my closest “gal pals” arrived a few days ahead of time to help with preparations. Cookies, sweets, and caramel apples were prepared. Crockpots worked nonstop filled with soups, chili, pulled pork, and meatballs. Loaves of crusty bread were baked. Homemade hot chocolate was prepared in advance, ready to be heated up. If time allowed, chunky marshmallows were made. But there were always bags of commercially prepared marshmallows on standby.

A couple of good friends hooked up a couple of large screen tv’s for those who wished to watch the games. The huge fire pit, made with rocks scrounged from the property, pulsed warmth fueled by fragrant wood. And for those who didn’t enjoy the fresh, crisp air, there was comfort indoors.

In the quiet of the evening a few of us hardier souls gather around the fire. The sky is inky black and loaded with bright stars. Tonight’s moon is a waxing crescent, throwing as much light as possible. We each cradle huge mugs of hot drinks. Rum toddies have been made complete with the use of a hot poker. Wistful sighs punctuate subdued conversation.

It’s a blessing to have friends and dreams. I will never give them up.

Music hath charms…

Music is magic and it’s transformative. I’m not any sort of music scholar. I just enjoy listening to it. Many of us have music memories, events we associate with specific music.

New Year’s Day to me is the Radetsky March and the Blue Danube waltz. For many years I’ve watched the concert fromVienna on PBS. It largely features the music of a couple of Strauss family members (remember, I’m not a scholar! Richard and Johann?), ballet, Lippizaners, and the beautiful scenery of Austria.

The dancers move to the music, either through ballet or waltz. They are elegant and graceful. Ballet is nice to watch. I’ve watched a great deal. It’s nice, as I said. I truly love watching skilled ballroom dancers. The college I attended had an international ballroom dance team. I often went and watched their practices because it was so enjoyable.

Ballroom dancing has rather run out of favor. I will say it was still a physical education elective when I was teaching high school. And the kids really enjoyed it. My brother (four years my senior) was very musical and also loved to dance. He taught me many of the ballroom standards and we’d practice at his whim. The waltz was my favorite.

Now, pair the waltz with my love of reading. Add in that I’m a true Romantic. I spent long periods of time daydreaming about waltzing with a tall, dark-haired stranger though the time period always seemed to be 19th century. My daydreams are very detailed. Long story short, my daydreams never manifested themselves in reality. No one I dated enjoyed dancing, even if they were tall and dark-haired.

I’ve said that I’m not a music scholar. I took piano lessons for a short time but detested them. None of this precludes me from enjoying music. And I enjoy so many different types of music. When I watch musical performances, especially classical, I’m always struck by how the music affects the musicians. They really FEEL the music. This isn’t to say that musicians of all genres don’t feel the music. Orchestra members are often disciplined and stiff-looking. I know there are protocols. But to watch them be swept away by the music they’re playing is moving and so powerful.

I understand how they feel. I feel it when I hear words, or observe a beautiful scene in nature. It can move me to tears at times, good tears. The annual concert in Vienna ends with a very upbeat, audience-participation piece named Radetsky’s March. Though a military tune, it’s very celebratory and fun, a good way to welcome a New Year!

Almost forgot the Lippizaners. They are horses, but not just any horses. They are highly skilled horses that perform incredible feats (dressage) called “airs above the ground.” I was horse crazy as a youngster and read all about them. Their heritage was threatened during WWII by advances of the Soviet Army. A group of American soldiers saved them. These events are chronicled in a book (and movie) called The Miracle of the White Stallions. I’ve seen these horses in a few performances and they are incredible. The Vienna concert often features a performance of the horses choreographed to the music.

The use of music in my life has become sparse. I need to incorporate it more for enjoyment and relaxation. But I’m glad I remembered to watch this year’s version of the concert from Vienna.

Room for celebration…

When one stops to ponder, though there are constant challenges, there are reasons for celebration on this cusp of the new year. I must continue to see this opportunity because the alternative is not pleasant.

I work hard each day to remain positive. Some days it’s an impossible task. Some days it comes easily. Some days the effort leaves me exhausted. That’s life. I’ve lived with major depression and anxiety since diagnosis in 1982. I’m glad to have been given the strength to navigate the often choppy waters. That’s a celebration.

This time of year is the most challenging for me. Add the shorter days and the often overcast conditions. Some days I’d rather remain under the covers. Long ago I promised myself to do my best to get out of bed, shower and dress in regular clothes every day. Each month may yield just one day I’m unable to do that. Lots of reason to celebrate.

I’ve chosen a mostly private existence during the Pandemic. The prospect of acquiring the virus just frightens the daylights out of me. The additional fact that I oversee my mom’s life allows me a good reason to isolate myself. I would have a hard time if I was responsible for passing it to her (she’s 93). I order groceries and pick them up. My Amazon Prime membership is my best friend. My pod of friends is pretty small. I do attend doctor’s appointments and have been in the hospital at least ten times in the last 18 months. I celebrate the fact I’m here to be able to recount all of these experiences.

Most of all, I’m so thankful to be able to run into former students, whether in person or on social media. I celebrate each one, even those who despised me. Each taught me a lesson. I worked hard to make connections with each. It was never a chore. Though I knew each student would never love the subject of English the way I did/do, I always hoped most took something of note from their classroom experience with me. For whatever it’s worth, I’m so very proud to have taught such a wonderful array of kids and the knowledge they passed to me. They enriched my life immeasurably. And that is a reason to celebrate.

The Alone Girl reminisces…

The Alone Girl was horse crazy. There. It’s out in the open. In fact, as a child she was occupied with books, horses, play, and learning. The Alone Girl received books as gifts for birthdays and Christmases. In between she utilized the public library.

A few books still stand out in her mind. Black Beauty, Misty of Chincoteague and the Illustrated Guide to Pony Care were longtime favorites. There was never the remotest chance of the Alone Girl owning a pony or horse but if it ever happened, she was prepared for its care.

Another horse-influenced memory that remains in the Girl’s mind involves JFK’s funeral. Aside from the Kennedy children’s similar ages to hers, the Girl knew Caroline had her own pony. Horses played a prominent role throughout the funeral. The Girl was mesmerized by them, especially the riderless horse with its rider’s boots reversed in the stirrups.

The Girl would eventually learn more about the tradition while reading through the section of military history and biography at the library. Her endless curiosity was fed by her frequent trips to the library, just a couple of stone’s throws from her home.

The horse craze was somewhat satisfied with trail rides and a couple of summers at camp where one could ride for an extra charge. Used to riding Western, the Alone Girl enjoyed learning to ride English style though did not care for being chastised about her posture which was lousy. But it gave her the opportunity to be aboard a horse, so she made the best of it.

It was a nice dream, but just a dream. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on…” said William Shakespeare in The Tempest. Dreams are wonderful but, while some may come true, it’s likely we will see more of what is true.

While reality may be harsh at times, it takes very little to dive into a book and achieve a dream-like state. One needs to keep things in perspective. The Alone Girl looks forward to reading the books received as Christmas gifts. It’s never too late to dream.

“It’s too bad that all these things/Can only happen in my dreams/Only in dreams/In beautiful dreams”. Roy Orbison

Tightroping into the future…

Earlier today I was doing some chores in the house. A cable news program droned in the background. The far recesses of my mind was registering Covid-related dire predictions, commentary on the state of our government, and then there was a mention of book burning. This struck a chord.

My love of reading began when I was a small child and continues to this day. It allowed me to become an English teacher and share my love of reading with kids. When I was first hired to teach, I inherited the previous teacher’ s schedule. It included a semester-long elective called Science Fiction. Hmmm. I’d taken some sci fi courses, definitely not my favorite genre. That made me more determined to succeed. I developed a survey-type of course featuring different types of sci fi stories. The novel we would read as a class was Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury, and the kids would read an independently chosen novel.

What’s my point? Bradbury’s iconic novel was set in a future where firemen burned books. The government did not want its citizens to be thinkers of any sort. It is a bleak and grim world. A group of people who value books live in a small colony where each person memorizes a piece of literature and “becomes” that book in order to keep it alive.

This novel grew from a Bradbury short story called “The Pedestrian.” The idea for the story came from a personal experience. Bradbury was out walking one evening. He never had a driver’s license. The police stopped him and questioned him because he was walking. Read the story for the implications of this event.

Science Fiction grew out of the Cold War unrest of the 1950s. I even prepared a Power Point presentation about fallout shelters because students had no clue about how important they became during the 1950s. A great resource that exemplified this topic was a Twilight Zone episode called “The Shelter.” Terrific story and gave us another way to connect the dots.

I hope it doesn’t come to pass during my lifetime that we become the society of Fahrenheit 451. To annihilate all semblance of creative and free thought would render us impotent beings. Keep this in mind. Better yet, sit down and read an enjoyable book.

A fresh start…

For over ten years I maintained a blog called The Quarry’s Child. Due to technological issues beyond my capacity to understand, it became necessary for me to start anew.

New beginnings are a fresh palette for all types of creativity. I’m excited to do something a little different than I have, and I want to showcase some of the art, music, and photography that inspire me.

It will be a little while until the blog is completely set up. Bear with me as I get it up and running. My previous work is still available to view at thequarryschild.com .