Favorite summer flower: Black-eyed Susans.
Flavor of ice cream or tofutti: Chocolate, of course.
Mode of transportation: Sailboat or canoe.
Music: Anything played by a guitar around the campfire.
Food: Fresh corn on the cob with salt potatoes and salad. Tomatoes from the garden that actually taste like tomatoes!
Favorite game to play: Flashlight tag on a dark night. (We call it Zap, but I think that is a regional or maybe even a family name.)
Earliest childhood summer memory: Playing trucks with my brother in the sand under the lilac bushes.
Favorite Drink: Root beer in a frosted glass mug on a hot day at the shore.
Favorite Snack: Watermelon chilled in cold river water and shared by the whole family, including kids who like to spit seeds at each other.
Place to read: In a small nylon tent all by myself on a rainy day.
Most annoying: Scratching poison ivy rash on a hot day in a car with no air conditioning and lots of overtired children in a traffic jam in the middle of nowhere because maybe I read the map wrong.
How I handle the heat: Not well. When temperatures go above 90 degrees, I just lie on the floor and complain. We have a couple of electric fans, but I don't like to use them because I don't like the noise.
Pet Peeve: Children who leave beach towels in the bilge of the boat instead of hanging them on the line to dry.
Mistake for which no one in my family will ever forgive you: Leaving a tent unzipped so that it fills with mosquitoes.
All-time favorite bathing suit: Red bikini. When I was sixteen years old. But a black maternity suit I wore during my last pregnancy is a close second. (It is so much fun to swim when you are pregnant. You just can't sink!)
Best Time of Day: Early morning at camp, when the bay is still covered with mist and no one else is awake.
Most romantic: Walking empty beach by the ocean in the rain.
Summer movie: Dirty Dancing. But anything at the drive-in is fine with me.
Best for sex: Inside a small tent during a thunderstorm with wind and pine trees moving about outside.
There are no rules for this meme, of course. Summer time is no time for rules!
May 10, 2005
May 09, 2005
Summer nap
Here's the problem with being an anonymous blogger during photo month: most of my photographs have people in them! And almost always those people are members of my family. So I find myself looking through photos to find one in which you can't see the faces.
So here is yet another family member taking a nap. Boy in Black is sleeping in the hammock at camp last Memorial Day weekend. The hammock was a present from me to the whole family one Christmas years ago. At the time, I was very pregnant, with two small kids at home, and did not feel like doing any Christmas shopping. I come from a family who is pretty random about gift giving -- if we don't have time or money, we don't bother, and no one cares -- but I came up with the idea of ordering a hammock through a catalogue and just presenting it to my parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews as one joint gift. The hammock has hung at camp ever since, often with several people crowding into it at once.
The hammock swings between oak trees that are older than any of us, even my Dad. The breeze off the river and the deep shade of the oak leaves keep the spot cool. While you sway lazily on the hammock, you can hear chipmunks rustling about, running up the oak tree -- and often the sound of the kids splashing down near the dock. If you look toward the river, you can see the marsh, acres and acres of cattails, a preserve protected by one tenuous piece of legislation. A famous battle was once fought in this creek -- and farmers still sometimes find canonballs and such in nearby fields. In May, the cattails are just beginning to grow, but by July they will be a lush expanse of rippling gold and green.
Camp has always been a place for naps. I think that is what happens when we are separated from our telephones, computers, televisions, answering machines --our busy schedules, our frantic pace of life. In the simple world of camp, the only worries we ever have are arguing about which game to play next or which snack to eat next or which island to go to for a swim. So it's natural in late afternoon, returning sunburned from a swim in icy water, for every family member to find a spot where he can close his eyes and dream.
May 08, 2005
In Celebration of PMS
This is a tangent spinning off a discussion that began over at Bitch, Ph.D.
Scene One: Woman comes home from a long weekend away with her friends. She enters her newly painted living room, the one she worked so hard on last week, and sees that her husband has mounted onto the wall, right in the middle of the living room, the head of dead deer. Antlers, shiny glass eyeballs, and all. She shows undue restraint, acts a bit irritated, and then says apologetically: "Oh, I must have PMS."
Scene Two: Woman in long-term marriage with a man who is verbally abusive, constantly putting her down, blaming her for anything that goes wrong. Woman manages to sweetly ignore this behavior two weeks out of the month, but for the other two weeks, finds herself getting irritated. She goes to the doctor to complain that she is having problems with PMS. The doctor prescribes anti-depressants.
Scene Three: Woman reading newspaper. She sees the latest atrocity the Bush administration is perpetuating and bursts into tears. "Oh, I must have PMS," she says. She puts the newspaper away and goes off to find some chocolate.
I think our culture still expects women to be good-natured, compliant, happily accepting a subservient role. So when a woman gets angry or loud or emotional or sad or furious or indignant or pissed or weepy or rageful or strident or outspoken .... we blame it on PMS. If a woman has a 28-day cycle, that means she has PMS about half the time. Should we write a woman off for half of her existence?
Or perhaps we should see PMS as a hormonal surge that empowers her. Perhaps we should look at PMS as the timing of her cycle that brings out her best self, the self that she allows to be angry and outspoken, the self who isn't going to put up with a lot of garbage.
So I am here to say this. PMS is a good thing. Let's celebrate it. Embrace it. Maybe there are things we should be getting angry about. Let's take the first example from above, which actually did happen to a friend of mine. You come home from a relaxing weekend away, and your husband - without consulting you - has put up the heads of dead animals in your living room? I'd say that you might just be justified in getting angry there. Or the second example. If your husband is verbally abusive ... get angry! Don't medicate yourself. Demand that he change -- or get out of the marriage. Divorce him. As for the third example: if you can read the newspaper, read about kids getting killed in Iraq for no good reason or read again about how we are destroying the earth that sustains us ... if you can read all that without getting angry or sad, I'd say that it is possible you have not grasped the situation.
So for Mother's Day this year, this is a message to my women friends: embrace your moodiness! Listen to your hormones. Use your PMS self as a role model. Act every day like you've got PMS! Anger is a strength. Because really, there are things we should be getting angry about.
Scene One: Woman comes home from a long weekend away with her friends. She enters her newly painted living room, the one she worked so hard on last week, and sees that her husband has mounted onto the wall, right in the middle of the living room, the head of dead deer. Antlers, shiny glass eyeballs, and all. She shows undue restraint, acts a bit irritated, and then says apologetically: "Oh, I must have PMS."
Scene Two: Woman in long-term marriage with a man who is verbally abusive, constantly putting her down, blaming her for anything that goes wrong. Woman manages to sweetly ignore this behavior two weeks out of the month, but for the other two weeks, finds herself getting irritated. She goes to the doctor to complain that she is having problems with PMS. The doctor prescribes anti-depressants.
Scene Three: Woman reading newspaper. She sees the latest atrocity the Bush administration is perpetuating and bursts into tears. "Oh, I must have PMS," she says. She puts the newspaper away and goes off to find some chocolate.
I think our culture still expects women to be good-natured, compliant, happily accepting a subservient role. So when a woman gets angry or loud or emotional or sad or furious or indignant or pissed or weepy or rageful or strident or outspoken .... we blame it on PMS. If a woman has a 28-day cycle, that means she has PMS about half the time. Should we write a woman off for half of her existence?
Or perhaps we should see PMS as a hormonal surge that empowers her. Perhaps we should look at PMS as the timing of her cycle that brings out her best self, the self that she allows to be angry and outspoken, the self who isn't going to put up with a lot of garbage.
So I am here to say this. PMS is a good thing. Let's celebrate it. Embrace it. Maybe there are things we should be getting angry about. Let's take the first example from above, which actually did happen to a friend of mine. You come home from a relaxing weekend away, and your husband - without consulting you - has put up the heads of dead animals in your living room? I'd say that you might just be justified in getting angry there. Or the second example. If your husband is verbally abusive ... get angry! Don't medicate yourself. Demand that he change -- or get out of the marriage. Divorce him. As for the third example: if you can read the newspaper, read about kids getting killed in Iraq for no good reason or read again about how we are destroying the earth that sustains us ... if you can read all that without getting angry or sad, I'd say that it is possible you have not grasped the situation.
So for Mother's Day this year, this is a message to my women friends: embrace your moodiness! Listen to your hormones. Use your PMS self as a role model. Act every day like you've got PMS! Anger is a strength. Because really, there are things we should be getting angry about.
May 07, 2005
Signs that Summer is Coming
1. I took the snow tires off my car.
2. Daughter will move back home tomorrow. Done with her exams! Done with her first year of college! She will be living home with us again for four whole months.
3. Freckles are appearing on the face of Shaggy Hair Boy.
4. Boy in Black took the first of his Advance Placement Exams yesterday. And informed me that he is never taking another history course again.
5. With-a-Why wants to go out for ice cream cones.
6. Gorgeous bright yellow dandelion flowers, hundreds of them, cover our lawns.
7. This morning, I packed away all the mittens, scarves, and snowpants, which suddenly seemed superfluous.
8. My Dad keeps talking about camp. He's ready to put the sailboat into the water.
9. I went outside this morning, flopped onto the ground where the air is warmer, and took a nap in the sun.
10. I don't have any papers to grade.
2. Daughter will move back home tomorrow. Done with her exams! Done with her first year of college! She will be living home with us again for four whole months.
3. Freckles are appearing on the face of Shaggy Hair Boy.
4. Boy in Black took the first of his Advance Placement Exams yesterday. And informed me that he is never taking another history course again.
5. With-a-Why wants to go out for ice cream cones.
6. Gorgeous bright yellow dandelion flowers, hundreds of them, cover our lawns.
7. This morning, I packed away all the mittens, scarves, and snowpants, which suddenly seemed superfluous.
8. My Dad keeps talking about camp. He's ready to put the sailboat into the water.
9. I went outside this morning, flopped onto the ground where the air is warmer, and took a nap in the sun.
10. I don't have any papers to grade.
May 06, 2005
Sleeping in the sun
Naps are one of the great pleasures in life. My summers are filled with naps taken in all kinds of places -- in a field of chicory and vetch, or on the fragrant floor of a pine forest, or on a sun-warmed mossy rock, or in the hammock under big oak trees, or curled up amongst the life jackets in the bilge of a sailboat, listening to the water noises that giggle against the hull.
In this photo, my Dad is settling down for a nap in the marsh at camp. He's tethered his raft to an old dock post. I've done the same thing, many times.
When you float at water level, the marsh looks different. You sleep eye level with the frogs and snakes and turtles. If you peer into the muddy water, you can see all kinds of things swimming about. And the cattails rise over your head, green and endless, way taller than you ever imagined.
May 05, 2005
The Things We Build
Except for my little office and a bathroom tucked into the northwest corner, the first floor of our house is one big room, with a kitchen area in the northeast corner, a big round table, glass doors that face east for morning light, a fireplace in the southeast corner, and then a bay window that faces west for afternoon light. The oak table, its top all covered with scratches, pen marks, and drips of wax, is where we gather to eat, or play cards, or play board games. It's where we have family meetings - and candle ceremonies for special occasions. The ceiling fan above the table has provided hours of enjoyment for the boys: if you don't know what I am talking about, try duct taping various items to a ceiling fan and turning it on.
When I sit at the table, I always choose the spot that gives me the view out the big glass doors. I like to watch the back meadow turning green, the dandelions jumping up all yellow. The words back meadow sound romantic but the reason we have to keep this field mowed is because it is the septic field, watered and fertilized any time someone in the house flushes a toilet. Several of my flower gardens are right in my line of vision, and I am looking forward to putting in plants at the end of the month when the soil is warmer.
For the first five years we lived in this house, we had no step outside the glass doors. So anyone who went outside had to jump down a bit to get to the ground. Not a big jump or anything ... but an awfully big step for anyone with short legs. It's amazing how quickly you get used to this kind of thing. It wasn't until last summer, when we were planning Daughter's graduation party, that it occurred to me that I ought to build some kind of step.
I decided to build a big step, 6 by 8 feet, so that it would be more like a little deck, big enough for a group of kids to play hacky sack on. Spouse helped me get the lumber one weekend, and I chose a sunny weekday when I was home alone for doing the actual work. Sadly, I had waited until the mosquitoes had hatched for this project. And it was a wet spring last year, so the mosquitoes were present in huge numbers. While I was running the circular saw, it wasn't so bad. I don't think insects like the noise. But when I sat down to hammer a million nails in, I was surrounded by a cloud of hungry insects who wanted blood.
I was in a miserable mood that day, brooding over something that now seems irrelevant. I had spent the morning e-mailing Artist Friend, venting about all kinds of things, and listening to the kind of music that just makes me melancholy. I think I was angry about something, but not admitting it. I am not always so good at the being-in-touch-with-your-feelings crap. And these damned mosquitoes were just the last straw. I slapped at them, swore at them, tossed my hammer onto the ground.
Finally, I got the electric fan that we put in the bedroom window upstairs in the boys' room and an extension cord. I put the fan right near me as I worked. The blowing air kept the mosquitoes away, and the breeze felt good as I worked in the sun. I hammered and hammered, nail after nail, allowing myself to feel angry. It felt good to drive those nails in, one after another, the pounding making a loud noise in my quiet woods.
This morning, I was feeling out of sorts, my feelings all mixed up. I talked for while to a friend who helped me sort out my feelings, then came out to sit on the back step and soak in the sun. I listened to all the noises of the woods - the chirping, rustlings, twittering, singing. The sun warmed up my sweatshirt, my jeans. New leaves were bursting from the lilac bushes next to me. A cat joined me, curling up in the sun. I remembered pounding the nails in last year, feeling angry, and how good that felt to allow myself to get angry. I thought about the questions SortingFriend had asked - and I wrote them in my journal.
The wind chime near our back door is a big one, with a deep, mellow sound that always seems nautical to me. I thought about how my Dad and I used to get up early in the morning when we were camping near the ocean, and sneak out to go prowl a marina in the newness of the morning. I thought about what a shy kid I was, never talking, often angry or passionate or frustrated, but never knowing how to express those feelings without someone telling me I was wrong to be upset.
I felt grateful for Artist Friend and Sorting Friend. And other friends too - the Wild Woman Friends, the Monking Friends, the Conference Friends, the Poet Friends, the Longtime Friends - who help me figure out my feelings. And don't make me feel bad for having feelings. I traced the nails on the deck with my fingers. It's a nice back step. I am glad I built it.
When I sit at the table, I always choose the spot that gives me the view out the big glass doors. I like to watch the back meadow turning green, the dandelions jumping up all yellow. The words back meadow sound romantic but the reason we have to keep this field mowed is because it is the septic field, watered and fertilized any time someone in the house flushes a toilet. Several of my flower gardens are right in my line of vision, and I am looking forward to putting in plants at the end of the month when the soil is warmer.
For the first five years we lived in this house, we had no step outside the glass doors. So anyone who went outside had to jump down a bit to get to the ground. Not a big jump or anything ... but an awfully big step for anyone with short legs. It's amazing how quickly you get used to this kind of thing. It wasn't until last summer, when we were planning Daughter's graduation party, that it occurred to me that I ought to build some kind of step.
I decided to build a big step, 6 by 8 feet, so that it would be more like a little deck, big enough for a group of kids to play hacky sack on. Spouse helped me get the lumber one weekend, and I chose a sunny weekday when I was home alone for doing the actual work. Sadly, I had waited until the mosquitoes had hatched for this project. And it was a wet spring last year, so the mosquitoes were present in huge numbers. While I was running the circular saw, it wasn't so bad. I don't think insects like the noise. But when I sat down to hammer a million nails in, I was surrounded by a cloud of hungry insects who wanted blood.
I was in a miserable mood that day, brooding over something that now seems irrelevant. I had spent the morning e-mailing Artist Friend, venting about all kinds of things, and listening to the kind of music that just makes me melancholy. I think I was angry about something, but not admitting it. I am not always so good at the being-in-touch-with-your-feelings crap. And these damned mosquitoes were just the last straw. I slapped at them, swore at them, tossed my hammer onto the ground.
Finally, I got the electric fan that we put in the bedroom window upstairs in the boys' room and an extension cord. I put the fan right near me as I worked. The blowing air kept the mosquitoes away, and the breeze felt good as I worked in the sun. I hammered and hammered, nail after nail, allowing myself to feel angry. It felt good to drive those nails in, one after another, the pounding making a loud noise in my quiet woods.
This morning, I was feeling out of sorts, my feelings all mixed up. I talked for while to a friend who helped me sort out my feelings, then came out to sit on the back step and soak in the sun. I listened to all the noises of the woods - the chirping, rustlings, twittering, singing. The sun warmed up my sweatshirt, my jeans. New leaves were bursting from the lilac bushes next to me. A cat joined me, curling up in the sun. I remembered pounding the nails in last year, feeling angry, and how good that felt to allow myself to get angry. I thought about the questions SortingFriend had asked - and I wrote them in my journal.
The wind chime near our back door is a big one, with a deep, mellow sound that always seems nautical to me. I thought about how my Dad and I used to get up early in the morning when we were camping near the ocean, and sneak out to go prowl a marina in the newness of the morning. I thought about what a shy kid I was, never talking, often angry or passionate or frustrated, but never knowing how to express those feelings without someone telling me I was wrong to be upset.
I felt grateful for Artist Friend and Sorting Friend. And other friends too - the Wild Woman Friends, the Monking Friends, the Conference Friends, the Poet Friends, the Longtime Friends - who help me figure out my feelings. And don't make me feel bad for having feelings. I traced the nails on the deck with my fingers. It's a nice back step. I am glad I built it.
May 04, 2005
Walking on water
All winter, the river was frozen, with some creatures snuggled down into the mud and other creatures leaving tracks across the snowy surface, but now the ice has melted. The river water will be cold, cold enough to make every nerve ending tingle, and the breezes off the river will be tinged with that icy coolness. The water will be temptingly clear -- the thick weeds will come later -- and the cattails will be just beginning to grow. In May, the river rises up over the docks, which means the marsh will be filled with little creeks, just right for exploring by canoe. When the sun comes out, everyone in the family, young and old, will strip down to bathing suits to feel the sun on their winter white skin and to play in the chilly water.
While I am grading papers, writing an annual report, and cleaning my office, it is hard not think about camp. My parents will go up next week, but most of us will have to wait until Memorial Day Weekend. This photo is from three years ago -- two of the kids in the family, cousins of course, playing on the submerged dock. These kids are teenagers now, but they will still be excited to be at camp, to sleep in the tent with their cousins, to tell stories around the campfire, to canoe or sail, or to just hang out in the sun. And another set of younger cousins will discover the fun of dancing on a wet dock.
May 03, 2005
Snakeskin
After reading people's thoughtful responses (comments and e-mails) to my snake dream, I thought it only fair to attempt to analyze the dream myself.
In my home office, I have several snakeskins on the edges of my bookshelves. If you have been imagining me working in a neat, uncluttered office, you are completely wrong. Well, some parts of my small office are neat, but the edges of the bookshelves and the windowsill and desk top are also filled with rocks, shells, feathers, and snakeskins. One time one of my kids left my window open on a windy afternoon and I walked in to a room that was just dancing with feathers, all blowing about amongst the stacks of books and piles of papers.
The snakeskin represents the part of the snake that resonates with me the most: the ability to change, to transform, to shed old skin, to grow.
Change can be frightening. When I was a child, I never wanted to grow up. I wanted to hold onto the safety and security of childhood. I've lived in the same place my whole life: I don't think I am by nature an adventurous soul. I cling to people and places. I am still friends with my best friend from kindergarten. I am married to the man I first dated when I was sixteen years old. I still camp every summer at the marsh I fell in love with as a child. When I was in first grade, the teacher asked what I wanted to be when I grew up: I said a writer and a teacher. I have stuck stubbornly with those career goals.
The presence of a friend in my dream does not surprise me either. Always I have had friends to nudge me towards changes in my life, forcing me to allow curves and tangents and unexpected happenings. The older I get the more I realize how important friendships are in my life: without them, I would probably just cling to a straight path, looking ahead and missing a whole lot.
So learning to allow snakes into my dreams has been about embracing change. And trusting friends to help me change and grow in all kinds of ways.
I am not exactly sure what particular change the dream was talking about. Does it have to do with my plan to take my writing more seriously this summer? Is it part of my spiritual journey and my realization that I am no longer part of the Catholic Church? Is it about a failed friendship that I clung to for years before finally letting go? Or is it about the fact that my children are growing up rapidly, becoming adults, changing my role and identity as mother?
When I look at the snakeskin, I remember PoetShaman's advice, and I try to welcome change into my life, accepting the snakes in my dreams, even if I am not entirely sure what that change might be. And I am thankful for the friends, including of course those in my blog community, who are helping me to discover all the curves and paths and snakes that would stay hidden without their help.
In my home office, I have several snakeskins on the edges of my bookshelves. If you have been imagining me working in a neat, uncluttered office, you are completely wrong. Well, some parts of my small office are neat, but the edges of the bookshelves and the windowsill and desk top are also filled with rocks, shells, feathers, and snakeskins. One time one of my kids left my window open on a windy afternoon and I walked in to a room that was just dancing with feathers, all blowing about amongst the stacks of books and piles of papers.
The snakeskin represents the part of the snake that resonates with me the most: the ability to change, to transform, to shed old skin, to grow.
Change can be frightening. When I was a child, I never wanted to grow up. I wanted to hold onto the safety and security of childhood. I've lived in the same place my whole life: I don't think I am by nature an adventurous soul. I cling to people and places. I am still friends with my best friend from kindergarten. I am married to the man I first dated when I was sixteen years old. I still camp every summer at the marsh I fell in love with as a child. When I was in first grade, the teacher asked what I wanted to be when I grew up: I said a writer and a teacher. I have stuck stubbornly with those career goals.
The presence of a friend in my dream does not surprise me either. Always I have had friends to nudge me towards changes in my life, forcing me to allow curves and tangents and unexpected happenings. The older I get the more I realize how important friendships are in my life: without them, I would probably just cling to a straight path, looking ahead and missing a whole lot.
So learning to allow snakes into my dreams has been about embracing change. And trusting friends to help me change and grow in all kinds of ways.
I am not exactly sure what particular change the dream was talking about. Does it have to do with my plan to take my writing more seriously this summer? Is it part of my spiritual journey and my realization that I am no longer part of the Catholic Church? Is it about a failed friendship that I clung to for years before finally letting go? Or is it about the fact that my children are growing up rapidly, becoming adults, changing my role and identity as mother?
When I look at the snakeskin, I remember PoetShaman's advice, and I try to welcome change into my life, accepting the snakes in my dreams, even if I am not entirely sure what that change might be. And I am thankful for the friends, including of course those in my blog community, who are helping me to discover all the curves and paths and snakes that would stay hidden without their help.
May 02, 2005
Snake dream
I have always dreamed of snakes.
Not the kind of snakes I see in real life. The snakes that live in my part of the world are small and innocuous: garter snakes, ribbon snakes, common water snakes. Nothing poisonous. Nothing harmful. At camp, watersnakes sun themselves on our dock, swim near when we are splashing in the water. They are a normal part of a sunny afternoon in the marsh.
The snakes in my dreams are bright coloured and frightening. They live in darkness. When I was a little kid, I would dream that the floor was covered with snakes of all kinds, curling and dangerous. I would wake up terrified, screaming, afraid to step out of the bed.
Even after I had grown up, moved out, and had kids of my own, the snake dreams continued. Often in the dreams I was living again at my parents' house. I'd be sleeping in a small room with the slanted ceilings that Cape Cod houses have, and snakes would slither out from the cracks at the floor board. They were long snakes, thick long snakes, often green or grey in colour. I would wake up, terrified. Sometimes Spouse would wake up, hearing me scream.
"What is the matter?" he'd ask.
"Remember how my parents used to have trouble with snakes in their house?" I would say. It would take me several minutes of talking, always with the light switched on, before I would realize that the dream was a dream and not the past.
My friend PoetShaman told me that dream snakes are powerful, and that I needed to learn to accept the snakes, learn to welcome them into my dreams instead of being afraid of them. She was working at a science museum at the time, and once when we met for lunch, we went to the cage where the boa constrictor was kept. She pulled this long thick snake out of the cage and placed the snake on me, on my arms and shoulders, around the back of my head. She told me I should learn to like snakes. She herself often gave snake demos and did not flinch as the snake slithered under her long hair or down all around her legs. I stood absolutely still, afraid to breathe even, while the heavy coils of the snake moved and twisted against my hair and against the bare skin of my arms.
The snake dreams have changed over the years. I am not as terrified by the dream snakes as I used to be. Sometimes I have dreams in which I am walking through a garden or greenhouse. I will notice snakes everywhere, green snakes, long and harmless. And I am not frightened. Somehow in those dreams, they are connected to plants and growing things.
Last night I dreamed I was in an old mansion, a huge crazy place with hundreds of empty rooms. I was with a friend and we were looking for snakes. It was a game sort of like hide and seek. We stayed together, but kept running around, finding snakes in different rooms, but the snakes were not frightening. We were happy and excited to find them. In the dream, I was a kid again and so was my friend, but we were grownups, too, if that makes sense, and the snakes were no more frightening than the snakes at the end of our dock in the summer. And yet ... when I woke up, I could feel that same sort of energy, the kind of power a snake dream has. I could feel the adrenaline, the sense of excitement and adventure of discovering snakes.
I stood at my window, staring out at the moon, the dark trees, the night sky, and wondered what the snake dream meant for me right now, at this point in my life.
Not the kind of snakes I see in real life. The snakes that live in my part of the world are small and innocuous: garter snakes, ribbon snakes, common water snakes. Nothing poisonous. Nothing harmful. At camp, watersnakes sun themselves on our dock, swim near when we are splashing in the water. They are a normal part of a sunny afternoon in the marsh.
The snakes in my dreams are bright coloured and frightening. They live in darkness. When I was a little kid, I would dream that the floor was covered with snakes of all kinds, curling and dangerous. I would wake up terrified, screaming, afraid to step out of the bed.
Even after I had grown up, moved out, and had kids of my own, the snake dreams continued. Often in the dreams I was living again at my parents' house. I'd be sleeping in a small room with the slanted ceilings that Cape Cod houses have, and snakes would slither out from the cracks at the floor board. They were long snakes, thick long snakes, often green or grey in colour. I would wake up, terrified. Sometimes Spouse would wake up, hearing me scream.
"What is the matter?" he'd ask.
"Remember how my parents used to have trouble with snakes in their house?" I would say. It would take me several minutes of talking, always with the light switched on, before I would realize that the dream was a dream and not the past.
My friend PoetShaman told me that dream snakes are powerful, and that I needed to learn to accept the snakes, learn to welcome them into my dreams instead of being afraid of them. She was working at a science museum at the time, and once when we met for lunch, we went to the cage where the boa constrictor was kept. She pulled this long thick snake out of the cage and placed the snake on me, on my arms and shoulders, around the back of my head. She told me I should learn to like snakes. She herself often gave snake demos and did not flinch as the snake slithered under her long hair or down all around her legs. I stood absolutely still, afraid to breathe even, while the heavy coils of the snake moved and twisted against my hair and against the bare skin of my arms.
The snake dreams have changed over the years. I am not as terrified by the dream snakes as I used to be. Sometimes I have dreams in which I am walking through a garden or greenhouse. I will notice snakes everywhere, green snakes, long and harmless. And I am not frightened. Somehow in those dreams, they are connected to plants and growing things.
Last night I dreamed I was in an old mansion, a huge crazy place with hundreds of empty rooms. I was with a friend and we were looking for snakes. It was a game sort of like hide and seek. We stayed together, but kept running around, finding snakes in different rooms, but the snakes were not frightening. We were happy and excited to find them. In the dream, I was a kid again and so was my friend, but we were grownups, too, if that makes sense, and the snakes were no more frightening than the snakes at the end of our dock in the summer. And yet ... when I woke up, I could feel that same sort of energy, the kind of power a snake dream has. I could feel the adrenaline, the sense of excitement and adventure of discovering snakes.
I stood at my window, staring out at the moon, the dark trees, the night sky, and wondered what the snake dream meant for me right now, at this point in my life.
May 01, 2005
Summer Plans
I have two summers every year.
The first summer will begin as soon as I finish grading portfolios and hand in my grades. Hopefully that will be sometime this week. Early summer consists of May and most of June. During this time, I am working at home and my kids are in school. Early summer is a time for writing, gardening, and thinking. I will have the quiet house to myself every day until 2 pm.
This year I am vowing to make use of early summer to devote some time to my own writing. My plan is to write every day from 9 until 11 am, and then again from noon until 2 pm. Four whole hours of writing! For me that seems huge. There will be a few days when I have to go into campus for meetings and such, so I have subtracted those days from my plan, but even so - I will have 27 days of writing during early summer.
And of course, outside that four hours, I will still have free time to do all the other things I like to do in early spring. I can't wait to begin gardening again. One of my favorite treats is to go to the gardening center to pick out plants. I love walking through rows and rows of flowers, all so bright-coloured and tempting, and choosing which ones to plant. I buy seeds and plants for my vegetable garden at a local stand that is just around the corner from my parents' house. My parents have bought their plants there for as long as I can remember. I am looking forward to wandering through the greenhouse to smell the basil, the onions, the chives.
Late summer consists of July and the first half of August. That part of the summer goes by fast, and I don't even try to get any writing done. Well, that isn't true exactly, because I take my journal everywhere I go. But late summer I spend with my kids. Late summer is for long camping trips, days at the beach, picnics, or just hanging out in our living room, everyone lying on the floor complaining about how hot it is. I am not someone who can work in the heat so when we have a heat wave, I am not likely to even turn the computer on. Luckily, Neighbor Family (they live just about exactly a mile away, but around here, that is a neighbor) have an above-ground pool in their backyard so on hot days we will all go over there. And if we are really lucky, the heat waves will come when we are at camp, with huge oak trees to shade us, a breeze off the river, and the whole deep cold river to swim in.
The first summer will begin as soon as I finish grading portfolios and hand in my grades. Hopefully that will be sometime this week. Early summer consists of May and most of June. During this time, I am working at home and my kids are in school. Early summer is a time for writing, gardening, and thinking. I will have the quiet house to myself every day until 2 pm.
This year I am vowing to make use of early summer to devote some time to my own writing. My plan is to write every day from 9 until 11 am, and then again from noon until 2 pm. Four whole hours of writing! For me that seems huge. There will be a few days when I have to go into campus for meetings and such, so I have subtracted those days from my plan, but even so - I will have 27 days of writing during early summer.
And of course, outside that four hours, I will still have free time to do all the other things I like to do in early spring. I can't wait to begin gardening again. One of my favorite treats is to go to the gardening center to pick out plants. I love walking through rows and rows of flowers, all so bright-coloured and tempting, and choosing which ones to plant. I buy seeds and plants for my vegetable garden at a local stand that is just around the corner from my parents' house. My parents have bought their plants there for as long as I can remember. I am looking forward to wandering through the greenhouse to smell the basil, the onions, the chives.
Late summer consists of July and the first half of August. That part of the summer goes by fast, and I don't even try to get any writing done. Well, that isn't true exactly, because I take my journal everywhere I go. But late summer I spend with my kids. Late summer is for long camping trips, days at the beach, picnics, or just hanging out in our living room, everyone lying on the floor complaining about how hot it is. I am not someone who can work in the heat so when we have a heat wave, I am not likely to even turn the computer on. Luckily, Neighbor Family (they live just about exactly a mile away, but around here, that is a neighbor) have an above-ground pool in their backyard so on hot days we will all go over there. And if we are really lucky, the heat waves will come when we are at camp, with huge oak trees to shade us, a breeze off the river, and the whole deep cold river to swim in.
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