Home Sweet Home

The Midsummer weekend here has been "up and down" with a mix of sun, rain and thunder, and varying degrees of humidity. In my neighbourhood, quite a few people besides myself seem to have been spending it at home; which in turn means it tends to get noisy, especially in the afternoons and evenings, with all the windows and balcony doors kept open because of the heat, people talking, and kids out playing etc. 

I find a bit hard to cope with the afternoons sometimes, as in hot summer weather that's neither the best time of day for me to be out, nor to stay in - and I can't really think of a third alternative! (And of course, this year, the corona situation adds to the frustration for everyone.) On the other hand, the morning seems the best time for me for anything and everything from sleeping in, being lazy, reading, going out, sitting on the balcony (before the sun hits) - and for cleaning and cooking and doing computer work etc indoors. As I'm not exactly an early bird by nature to begin with, that means my active time of day is rather limited (between late breakfast and lunch!) And the rest... Phew, well, never mind! (Today I managed to fit in a nice nap while heavy rain was drumming away on my windows, though. And with the rain, no need to keep thinking that perhaps I should be out instead...)

This morning (seems like a long time ago now), I woke up with fragments of a dream lingering in my head - and thought I might blog about that later. Now is later, but of course now, my vague recollections of the dream seem even more fragmentary and blurry. Copying the photo of the bird houses from my camera to the computer reminded me of it again, though, because I know it was all somehow to do with "home" - and including some feelings of frustration. However, I can't really recapture the dream itself now, and only vaguely some of my thoughts while thinking about it back in the morning.

For one thing, the audio book I'm listening to at the moment is Coming Home by Rosamunde Pilcher. It's a 'coming of age' story set in Cornwall before and during WWII. A young girl (Judith) is left behind at a British boarding school while her mother and baby sister go to Singapore to join the father working there. The war means Judith cannot travel to visit or join them later as intended either. She had two aunts in Britain but her main substitute family becomes that of a classmate of hers, living on a big estate. I haven't finished the book yet (it's a long one - 40 hours as audio!) so not sure yet where it will end. Sometimes I'm finding it a bit long-winded, but here and there it does make interesting points - like about family, friends and what else equals "home" to us, but also how we are affected by various crises, both on personal and national level (like the War, back then - and, reading it just now, also bringing to mind the pandemic which is now the Enemy to all of us, where ever we happen to live).

I know that this morning, I also had more thoughts in my head connecting to this, but now I can't recreate them. I think some were probably to do with other people's blogs I'd been reading, too. I think a lot of us have been struggling a bit extra with coming up with ideas to blog about while being ''@home" more than usual this spring! Alas, it seems that having time on our hands does not necessarily mean also feeling inspired and creative...

Secrets

Among the blogs on my dashboard reading list there is the mysterious Ten Thousand Questions, which keeps asking daily questions without collecting any answers (or at least never publishing any). This week they’ve been asking annoying ones to suggest my life is full of deep dark secrets:

What are a few of your biggest secrets? Are they things that nobody knows, or things that everybody knows but no one talks about? Do you keep more secrets now, or did you keep more secrets when you were much younger? What's changed over time in your situation, or in your attitude about keeping things secret? Do you worry about people thinking less of you if they found out your secrets? Are you concerned that some of your secrets could impact your job or your relationships? What big, guilty secret did your family share when you were growing up?  Do you still carry shame associated with your family's secrets? Are you the person that everyone tells their secrets to, or are you always the last to find out?

I very rarely write down answers to the TTQ questions – only give them a few seconds of brain time. This week, my brain kept giving the spontaneous frustrated response: “WHAT secrets?!” 

Still, I wonder if these questions might possibly have made their way into a dream I woke up from this morning… For some obscure reason, I was subjected to some kind of theraphy with a most annoying therapist who kept asking questions out of context – not that I can recall now what the context was supposed to be, nor what kind of annoying questions it was I was asked – you know how it is with dreams! Anyway not much remained when I woke up but the frustration: “but… but… but…” (The dream also reminding of a clever attorney questioning a witness in a court of law; or some conversation from Alice in Wonderland.)

Another factor behind the dream may have been some frustrating talks of different (and yet in some ways similar) kind lately with pharmacy and health care staff, trying to sort out a complication with a certain prescription. (No secrets involved, just too complicated to explain here as I hardly understand it myself in my own language.) It’s probably sorted now (I’ll see next week when I try going to the pharmacy again). But it involved a lot of Wonderland-twisted nonsense arguing.

Anyway, the week’s package of prying questions from TTQ reminded me of a little book I bought some thirty years ago, hardly more than a pamphlet, entitled Secrets, by Paul Tournier (a Swiss Christian physician and author, 1898-1986).

Wise words from this little book:

Freedom is what makes the individual. Keeping a secret is an early assertion of freedom; telling it to someone that one chooses is going to be a later assertion of freedom, of even greater value. He who cannot keep a secret is not free. But he who can never reveal it is not free either.

While I’m not the kind of person who talks with anyone about everything, I also don’t think I carry a lot of big dark secrets that no one must ever know. (But then if I did, it’s hardly likely I’d suddenly blurt that out all over the internet, is it? Which leaves you none the wiser.)

As for the last of the TTQ questions: “Are you the person that everyone tells their secrets to, or are you always the last to find out?” - I’d say that ironically, I think it’s been a bit of both. Some people tell me things because they know I’ve little interest in idle gossip. On the other hand, sometimes I’m the last to find out, for the same reason!

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PS. The two photos are from a gardening expo last year. (I guess my mind wandered to “secret gardens”…)

And the Moral of the Story Is …

In yesterday’s post - answering the question what kind of book I would write if I could – I said that although I always loved to write, I never really felt I had a Great Story lurking, just waiting to be told.

This morning I woke up reminded of something that might contradict that statement: On several occasions lately, I’ve woken up in the morning with the feeling of having dreamt “a complete story” rather than the usual odd fragments shifting shape and focus from one part of the dream to the other.

The annoying part is that I’m never quite able to recall the details! It’s just that feeling… of the dream having had a starting point, and a proper (hm!) plot, and reaching The End before I wake up. But the memories of it dissolve when hit by daylight!

This morning I stayed in bed for a while, trying to recall the dream. But of course the notepad and pencil that should be beside my bed weren’t there, and I had to get up to get them, and before I’d found them, most of the dream was gone. All that I was able to jot down was one sentence, summing up the “moral” of the story:

“Sometimes the person who we think is placing obstacles in our way, is really the one who is trying to clear the way.”

Then I put the notepad aside and completely forgot all about it during the rest of the day - until just now when I happened to find the pad again, and saw the words I had written on it.

As for the rest, I only vaguely seem to recall a house full of people, and flowerpots being moved around and turning up where they shouldn’t be – and that the person responsible was not the one everyone suspected.

If you happen to be a Great Novelist, please feel free to steal the plot. I doubt I’ll be able to do much with it…
*LOL*

Looking Into the Future

Do you have any tradition of fortune-telling at New Year? In old stories I’ve read, they used to melt tin and pour it out in cold water, and from the shape they made predictions. Similar to reading tealeaves in a cup and such, I suppose. (Which I’ve never tried either, since I use strainers that don’t really leave a lot of tealeaves behind!)

What made me think of this was a radio program I listened to on New Year’s Eve, where someone did the same kind of thing with home-cooked fudge instead of tin.

Then it came to mind again today when I looked at some photos from yesterday of icy puddles. What do you see in them? To me they took the shape of various animals.

I see a duck, an elephant, a lion and a badger! The only conclusion I can draw is that I must go to the zoo again some time this year! (I don’t think they have badgers, though. Yet!)

Anyway, I sincerely hope that the first dream/nightmare of the year does not point to future events; because this morning I woke up from one where I had just spilled a full three months supply of all my various medical pills all over the floor. I guess I must be grateful that I woke before I had to start picking them all up!’

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PS (2 Jan) Photoshop still goes over my head but in Paintshop I managed to find a tool that did what I wanted! This is what I see:

Dream Catchers

At the Autumn Market, I came across these Dream Catchers.
I was fascinated by the symbolism (see below), the craft and the colours; so could not resist buying one (or two – one for a friend).

Originally the dream catcher was a Native American handmade object based on a willow hoop, on which was woven a loose net of sinew strands reminding of a spider’s web. It was then further decorated with personal and sacred items such as feathers and beads.

Native Americans believe that the night air is filled with dreams both good and bad. The dream catcher when hung over or near the bed, swinging freely in the air, catches the dreams as they flow by.

The good dreams know how to pass through the dream catcher, slipping through the outer holes and sliding down the soft feathers so gently that many times the sleeper does not know that he/she is dreaming. The bad dreams not knowing the way get tangled in the dream catcher and perish with the first light of the new day.