Pipe Dreams

December 11, 2017December 11, 2017 / Lisa / 9 Comments

There was this Christmas when I knew I was getting an organ. I’d opened the hall closet one day and there was a box that was clearly an organ. This was back in the 1970s before electronic keyboards or digital instruments.

Did I know how to play an organ? Nope. Did I want one that fit in a small cardboard box tucked under coats in a closet? Nope. I dreamed of a giant pipe organ along one wall of the bedroom I shared with my sister.

I’ve never been one who wanted to peek at presents or know ahead of time. I’ve never liked having to give people ideas, or make lists. Being surprised is part of the magic. But husbands, and parents, seem to want a list.

When we were young, that meant the Sears Roebuck Christmas catalog. It was big and heavy and came in the mail with glorious color photos of every toy imaginable. Us kids would pore over the dreams, marking up pages and folding corners.

So there I was, accidentally knowing about the organ ahead of time. I had guilt the weeks leading up to Christmas. I worried that my knowing would ruin the joy for my parents, being able to give me something I’d marked. It’s not like they could often afford the things all us kids dreamed about.

When it came time to open gifts, I ripped into that cardboard box, squealing, jumping up and down, everything I could think of to prove how much I loved it and how little I knew I was getting it. That became a family story for years after. ‘Yes, so and so sure loved their gift, but nothing like how excited Lisa was with that organ!’ No one ever suspected.

Really, it was an awful organ. A little thing that sat on the desk and sounded wheezy and tinny. I found an old book of American folk songs and picked the few easy tunes out. I attempted The Minstrel Boy, Clementine, and Shenandoah over and over. No matter how bad the music sounded, I owed it to my parents to prove to them how much I loved their gift. Mom used to come down the hallway, apologize, and shut my bedroom door.

I remember being relieved when the thing finally wheezed its last note and died.

It took years.

What gift stands out in your memory?

A Man Who Wanted To Die

December 3, 2017December 3, 2017 / Lisa / 4 Comments

On a hot summer day, he tried three times. All alone in his little car, he swallowed a bottle of pills. Later, when the pills didn’t work, he tried stabbing himself in the stomach. Later still, he rolled up all the windows and waited for heat exhaustion, until he had silver-dollar-sized blisters on the side of his body that rested against the metal of the car door.

He survived.

You might ask why he wanted so badly to die. We never knew the full reasons. He had awful health issues though. They weren’t terminal, but made his life difficult to the point where he may have seen no way out other than death.

I wonder if he learned how to love life again.

More and more states are passing ‘right to die’ legislation, which I am highly in favor of. It’s for those who are terminal, and allows them to pass with dignity. You know, that same dignity we allow our dogs and cats and beloved pets when it’s their time.

But for those who aren’t terminal, such legislation doesn’t exist. Of course it doesn’t. Because when you are in that deep, dark, isolated hole of depression, when that unimaginable weight is on top of you and you can’t rise up, you are incapable of making decisions. Such a person, like that man who so wanted to die, sees no hope. And yet, the right help, the hand held out, the words from someone who tries to understand, or just listens, can sometimes begin to lift that weight off another’s soul.

Why such an intense topic today? Because I was recently reminded that we are coming up on a season that is difficult for many. Suicide rates climb high during the Christmas and New Year holidays.

So take care of each other. Be aware of your stress. Be kind to strangers. Ask for help. Ask for help for others. Don’t stay silent out of despair or fear. Don’t stay silent because of a sense of politeness or worry about offending someone. If you see changes in behavior, a withdrawing, anything that constitutes a flag, be blunt. Ask if they have thoughts of hurting themselves. Ask if they have a plan. Don’t leave them alone. Get help.

And if someone holds out a hand, take it.

Dog Dreams In Clouds

November 22, 2017November 22, 2017 / Lisa / 9 Comments

I have an active imagination that translates to dreams. I can even control them. I’ll think about a story I want to have a part in, and dream it. If I have a nightmare, I’ll lay there and think, ‘but if this happened, and that happened…’, go back to sleep and have a great story.

But one night I had an extremely vivid dream, even for me. Just a scene, really. I sat on our couch, squished against one end because my Irish Wolfhound, Strider, was also there. Wolfhounds take up couches. And beds. And floor space. And block the television and steal food from counters.

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And look you right in the eye. After all, I’m short and they’re tall.

In the dream, Strider’s head was on my lap and I was running my hand over and over his rough-coated fur, crying. Hard. Because he’d been gone for a few years and I missed him, but also because I knew it was a dream. I wasn’t going to wake up with my dog soul-mate back in my life.

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The dream stayed with me, just as vivid. His fur under my hand had been so real. The weight of his head on my lap. Those copper penny eyes looking up at me. Even now I get teary remembering the dream.

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Then came the hot summer day when I’d been working outside. That evening I knew I’d be sore the next day so I went out to the hot tub. While soaking, clouds moved in over the mountains. And there he was. This huge cloud shaped like a wolfhound. Like he leaped from the top of the mountain into the sky where the stars were coming out, his tail streaming behind him.

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I’ve never been one to see shapes in clouds. Someone will say ‘oh look, it’s a dragon!’ and I’ll think ‘looks like a cumulus cloud to me’.

A friend pointed out later that I was probably dehydrated. Hot day, sweating, sitting in a hot tub. Seeing things. I suppose she was right. But it reminded me of that dream.

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So I mentioned the dream to another friend. She said it sounded like Strider was finally ready to transition and had come to tell me goodbye. Well, that made me cry. Still makes me teary.

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Anyway, I’m pragmatic. I don’t believe in life after death. If anything, I think we’re bags of energy that dissipate wherever energy goes. I don’t believe in religions. I think they were man’s first attempts at creating a moral code.

But here’s the thing.

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That dream was so vivid.

And since then, I always see faces and creatures in the clouds. Lots of them. Even when I’m not in the hot tub, dehydrated. I find myself looking for them, silently telling them hello.

I think Strider is out there with them, running free.

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