Tree Faces: dream a little dream of me

All this dreaming I’ve been doing reminded me of one of my favorite songs, “Dream a Little Dream of Me”. Which do you prefer? The Doris Day or Mama Cass version? Or Ella Fitzgerald/Louis Armstrong? For me, it’s an evocative and bittersweet song no matter who sings it. Check out the versions below and share your fave.

I have no idea why I’ve been experiencing such an enhanced dream-state, but here’s what I remember from the most recent one.

The act of remembering dreams is so ephemeral; just when you think you grasp a vision or a thought, it slips away; lost forever.

And nothing is longer than forever. This I know for sure.

I’m calling this one Tree Faces.

First of all, I remember being surrounded by tall trees in a circle, like a crown.

It’s silent in the forest. Through the bits of sky that peek through, the sun is shining, the sky is blue. Situated in the center of the circle, I feel myself lying down on a bed of crunchy pine needles. Squinting against the sun, I look up and up at the conifers, enchanted by their height and majesty.

I feel very princess-like, as if I’m growing as tall as the trees, as if I’m becoming the trees, even though my body is supported by earth and gravity. I understand these forest dwellers. These strong and resilient pine trees gently rustle their leaves and needles and the uppermost branches start to curve downward, to incline directly at me and then the tippiest top of the trees morphed into individual faces.

We gazed at each other for a few minutes, I turned my head all the way around to observe each and every face– I wasn’t scared or even surprised– and then one of them asked me, kindly, “Are you ready to go?” and another tree face asked, “Are you ready to leave and come with us?”

I remember knowing exactly what they were referring to and WHERE. I do. They wanted to know if I was ready to leave Earth and join them in the worlds we mortals don’t really know or accept that exist.

I sighed, and said, “No, I don’t think I can. Not yet, I can’t leave. I’m still needed here.”

But I wanted to go. I yearn to be in a place of eternal love and kindness and beauty.

So I asked the tree faces, “Can I be here and and come with you at the same time?”

I don’t recall an answer except the faces faded, the trees became tall and straight again, and I felt loved and protected and serene.

I closed my eyes and woke up at the same time.

Isn’t that so freaky???

I wrote down as much as I could remember, and started researching dream interpretations. Apparently, other people have dreams in which trees talk, so it’s not too unusual. It was amazing, though. The colors and smells and sensations of being in the forest and being protected were powerful.

I’ve always identified with being a tree-hugger so…who knows?

A wood or collection of trees: The natural forces in your own being, therefore ones connection with or awareness of the unconscious; other people’s personal growth and connection with self. The wood also indicates allowing yourself to be natural, to express what is innate in you, and for the mind and emotions to move in their own way. Walking in a wood might therefore suggest a feeling of relaxation, but it can also mean delving within your deeper feelings and mind – your unconscious – exploring your inner life.

What does it mean to dream about a tree talking? A tree talking to you in your dream could be a sign that, the subconscious is trying to let you learn something regarding some issue that you are currently facing.  I know might seem a bit strange for the tree to actually – talk to you, but it could mean that all you need to do is wrap your arms around a tree and listen to the spiritual words that are being conveyed to you.

If you dreamed about a tree talking to you, such dream might represent messages from your subconscious, regarding some current issues in your life that you should pay attention to.

IMG_5547

I took this pic two years ago on a camping trip in the Pacific Northwest. This is kinda what the trees looked like in my dream. Only with faces at the top.

 

 

What We Do Is Who We Are. I Think. Well, Maybe.

What We Do Is Who We Are. I Think. Well, Maybe.

Maybe not, ‘cos if that were true, I’d be Eleanor Powell or Ella Fitzgerald and hub’d be Frank Sinatra or Fred Astaire or Sammy D.

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Long relationships possess an ebb and flow; that we know.

On any given day, either one of us is the frustrating one to be married to (most often me ha ha). Sometimes we’re on the same path– in sync and cosmically aligned — sometimes we misunderstand cues and hurt feelings ensue.

My tugboat man and I have experienced it all — mostly we’re sailing along on the same course (nautical reference) —  but this past Sunday was a nice and easy day, kind of a quirky series of activities that pretty much defines our relationship in a good way, I think.

After a few days on antibiotics, hub’s up and about, almost recovered from an upper respiratory infection except for a nasty cough that’s stubbornly refusing to disappear.

My recovering invalid requested French toast for breakfast with fruit and yogurt — as much as I throw a certain amount of snark his way, I’m a dedicated caregiver — I learned it all from my RN mom.

Hmm, thought to self: next time he’s sick, I’ll need to remember to wear my mom’s old nurse uniform and that cool hat she wore along with the thick white support stockings and shoes — I love to play dress up. Yes, I never grew up, I know that…

In appreciation for the yummy breakfast, Tugboat Man declared that he would learn to play one of my favorite songs on his ukelele, Cole Porter’s “Begin the Beguine”.

Kala Concert Ukelele

He brings his Kala Concert Uke when he goes out to sea; it’s the perfect size for traveling.

(BTW, a beguine is a dance.)

That led each of us down a parallel path on You Tube to search for all the different versions we could find.

Sitting side by side on the sofa with our individual laptops, we shared our discoveries, both of us mirroring jaw-hanging-open awe of Eleanor Powell and Fred Astaire dancing in Broadway Melody of 1940:

While this may not seem like an overwhelming good time to everyone, when you’re a mariner’s wife, these simple slices of an everyday life  — things you might take for granted under different circumstances —  become more precious and more poignant — and more appreciated.

(Look at me!  A deep thought! Did you think it wasn’t possible? Did you doubt that I could be more than a one-dimensional shopaholic?)

We both agreed that our all-time favorite was performed by Ella Fitzgerald. I can (and do) listen to her over and over:

But Frank Sinatra’s is awesome, too. Throughout the years of his career, he sang it many different ways, and we listened to them all:

And then there’s Sammy Davis, Jr. He’s amazing:

What a wonderful way to spend a Sunday morning.

I guess for us today, what we do IS who we are, and the reaffirmation of us; together, enjoying different interpretations of “Begin the Beguine”, eyes closed, side by side, each of us feeling the haunting lyrics and exotic melody.

Sometimes, just being together is enough.

Whose version do you like?

Begin the Beguine

When they begin the beguine
It brings back the sound of music so tender
It brings back a night of tropical splendor
It brings back a memory ever green

I’m with you once more under the stars
And down by the shore an orchestra’s playing
And even the palms seem to be swaying
When they begin the beguine

To live it again is past all endeavor
Except when that tune clutches my heart
And there we are swearing to love forever
And promising never, never to part

What moments divine, what rapture serene
Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted
And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted
I know but too well what they mean

So don’t let them begin the beguine
Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember
Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember
When they begin the beguine

Oh yes, let them begin the beguine make them play
Till the stars that were there before return above you
Till you whisper to me once more, darling I love you
And we suddenly know what heaven we’re in
When they begin the beguine

When they begin the beguine.

#Ella Fitzgerald, #Frank Sinatra, or #Sammy Davis Jr.

 

Don’t hate me, but I love to clean house

vintage_cleaning_ad-300x201March means spring cleaning, right?

  • Vacuuming
  • Polishing furniture
  • Laundering curtains, drapes, bedspreads
  • Ironing
  • Bleaching grout
  • Shampoo carpets

Nothing compares to a job well done–the satisfaction of sparkly tile and a well ordered linen closet…the sweet perfume of bleach, Pine-Sol, and vinegar.

And it’s great exercise, too.

I don’t understand why housecleaning is the victim of such visceral loathing. I’ve always found it to be a source of –well, not quite mindless activity– but rather a Zen-like state.

I’ve come up with some of my best ideas while vacuuming.

UNKNOWN_CleaningDishesMotherAndDaughter_WIt’s ‘cos of my mom. When I was growing up, she made chores fun— not drudgery to be avoided. Whether it was washing the crystal in the china cabinet or ironing scarves and handkerchiefs, we always had a great time. A time to joke and chat, working on a project together.

“Good morning, Rosebud, guess what we’re going to do today?”

“What, mommy. what?”

“We’re going to take ALL the books out of the bookcase, wash the shelves, and dust the books! Do you think we should put them back by size, or subject, or alphabetically? Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Oh, mommy, that sounds like so much fun!

If a job has to be done, why not enjoy doing it?

I think that’s a wonderful gift for a mother to bestow upon her child.

men-housework1- travelerstipsnpicsI’m all for equality; equal pay and all that, but cleaning and organizing is deeply satisfying.

Even my tugboat man enjoys the virtues of a clean garage and he’s a great window washer, so it’s not a gender thing.

 

 

 

When I’m cleaning, I love  Cow Cow Boogie by the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald.

Do you have a favorite song list for cleaning?

MY BEFORE AND AFTER PICTURES

This would be “during”, more than “before”messybedroomAfter…much nicer, don’t you agree? I’ll sleep good tonight.After...