OCTOBER STORMS.

I'M TRYING TO IMPORT WRITINGS FROM OTHER PLACES IN MY ELECTRONIC LIFE AND IT SEEMS TO ME THAT IT'S ALWAYS MORE TROUBLE THAN JUST WRITING IT DOWN IN ONE PLACE ALL THE TIME.... using perhaps paper and pencil.
I learned to write cursive penmanship with a pencil in the second grade.
But today I 'write' with a remembered dream that I have had twice now since coming here in 2006. The first time I had it my mother was visiting for Thanksgiving and Adam and Kevin were here with her. That sorta freaked me out a tad; but not till later.  Then I had the dream again after Adam died but before my mother died.  I thought about the dream right away though still not sure of the relevance to her dying. After all she was 90 for God's sake. Should I be ashamed to say there a a few people I wish were dead instead? Now or still?
So now third time dream in a cold October dark morning and Mom is dead--who is next?
Here are the notes mashed together.


     Sooo, today I type- or is the correct to 'say' : I   'wordprocess' ?
I love the language in that way when we use the word 'say' without uttering a sound we use I 'write' while we finger poke @ square buttons...I love  to read Christopher Hitchens for this language thing. He's so smart.
I also can't get the fucking printer to print so Im typing this in an email to myself. Why not use a pencil? The printer will scan and  copy but nothing from inside the iMac can get out.  I like to hold page in hand while I read.
 I digress.
     So the dream is really pretty nothing in the plain telling. I dream that I am in my Kentucky kitchen, at the sink--my station in life-- and as I wash whatever item it is in my hand I look up and out the window and see my father behind the wheel of a low rider---I want to say Bonneville but I have no clue. It's one of those wide rocking boats of a car and it has no seat belts and wide slippery seats. A dark green car. You could put six kids in the back seat. Easily.  I continue to digress.   iDigress on the iMac that wontPrint.
   So theres's Dad and he's just idling in the back field way in the corner behind the clump of big Norway spruces.  I want to put a Christmas star on one of those spruces this year.  He's smoking a Camel.  Now mind you, my father's been dead since 1996. Never- the -less I get all excited and grab the hand towel and put my shoes on and beat feet down the kitchen stairs all tripping and panting into the back field.  Just as Dad see's me he guns it, burning loud rubber in spite of the fact that there is tall grass and no surface to burn rubber on.  And then he's gone; screaming fishtailing out onto Eastin Rd like he knew where he was going. And he's telling me wordlessly he's close by but it's not time and he's not ready.
     And then I wake up and say hmm "who is Dad here for?"
    And then I wonder "why do I think that?"
   And then I think "fuck I know too much!"

Im not sure why this bothers me. I understand the irrelevance and unfathomability of any surety with dreams. I'm supersticious anyway.
I'm not sure what the unease is. There arent really any big deals going on anywhere.
I name this phantom anxiety, and I take the dogs out.
But I feel Im missing something and there is something right on the tip of my brain tongue and in one minute it's gonna come to me.
And given that Im such a professional sleepologist I KNOW how the four stages of sleep occur and for how long and when REM jumps up and Alpha Deltha Theta BIS etc. Are you getting this?
Not  that knowing  this makes me more sure that I know something is trying to worm into my consciousness but it does. Squirels in the amygdala.

this is a compilation ( such a french word) of three short notes and one (dream) early morning journal entry

COLD FRAME

  It's always sweet to come home to my garden after a few days away.  Late this afternoon I took up all the remaining tomatoes, castor beans and corn as the 23F*  over the weekend did them in. Eric roto-tilled the vegetable garden while I was away and he moved the new cold frame (the repurposed old front storm door) into the fenced part of the garden... Eight feet tall two feet wide three feet deep at the back and two at the front. Gor -geous!!! So tonight at dusk after four days away I HAD to go out into the garden as the sun set for a spell. Therapy.  Vin avec le petite amis les doggies. Tycho and Kahli were of course thrilled with my return and even though the garden had frosted over it sang to me and said "where have you been?" I dug another 2 pounds of potatoes and replanted some yukon gold seed roots in the new cold frame. I have beautiful dark compost all around the beds with my own mulch. Can I convey my excitement in writing? I also planted turnips and parsley and lettuce and greens in the cold frame. We shall see grasshopper-- oh cynical ones..xomo
 

Rules

   So Google is advising me too now. We should keep this impersonal in a HIPPA-like way.  No identifying people, no revealing weird  personal factoids, no smut.  Privacy and respect should prevail. Swearing is fine; mostly because the Irish love the language and swearing is good for emphasis in our neck of the woods, and more importantly we still have a free speech amendment. No bullying, no racism. Sexism is ok; as we all know which gender is superior. If you post, don't reveal your whole name. I and most of you will know each other and first names are fine. You can pick on the Catholics, the Government, the French, the English, the Democrats, the Republicans, the Tea Partiers, Big Pharm and Pencil Pushing Pecker Heads,   (as an aside: the French were very friendly and polite at WEG, it was the Brits who were rude and condescending, just saying). Because it's my blog. But again no mean weird stuff. And you all know what that is. No illegal revelations. Ok, go rake leaves now and compost them for next year's vegetables. I see, like the garden, the blog is an ever evolving entity.

Trees

     I moved three trees this week.  I had planted six of them three years ago as tiny twelve inch sticks in a pot. I bought them from the National Arbor Day Foundation for pennies. The two Cottonwoods are ten feet tall now.  I put them outside the fence along the road with two other Cottonwoods alongside a Japanese Cherry, three Leyland Cypress and a handful of Yew.  I am so very  instant gratificationized with  planting trees. I also moved a Weeping Blue Atlas Cedar to the middle of the front lawn because the Cypress were trying to smother it. It's so much happier now and not really weeping at all.  I also cut back all the Angels Trumpets, Castor Beans, Hyacinth Beans, Zinnias, Loves Lies Bleeding ( boy are they volunteers) Peppers but not the Habaneros which are going strong, Tomatoes ( really I've had enough and we'll have fried green tomatoes for weeks to come). Eric built me a fine cold frame made out of the old front storm door  and I am VERY excited about that because I'm gonna try and grow turnips broccoli and lettuce all winter!  This is almost too much for a New England gardener to believe!  With all this tree beautification out front inside and outside the fence it greatly irritates me that I have to walk the road regularly to pick up trash people throw out the windows as they drive along.  Wicked irritating but then it gets me to walking the road every other day. And I see stuff.
     Thats the daily garden spin for now. I'm working on the election spin, the Medicare spin, the tax spin and the asshole neighbor spin. Stay tuned.