I wore a business suit as I waded into Lake Balboa. Ignoring instructions shouted by a tall, athletic looking man who looked to be in his thirties, I managed to splash my way to the halfway point. An invisible group of people lining the sandy shore seemed to be the intended recipient of the man’s directions; he seemed not to notice me, but was keenly focused on them. At least I think they were the target of his attention. As far as I could tell, the beach was empty—but something held his attention.
The scene changed—or else my attention shifted. Swimmers—my oldest brother’s sons— appeared nearby. I asked whether they could see a float close by, something I could grasp to keep me from sinking and drowning. First, the youngest one replied, he had to find a bathroom, where he could change his clothes.
Another scene change, This time, the same nephews—joined by several other people—stood with me at a check-out counter in a country store. The aisles of the store were filled with dusty cans and big cardboard boxes filled with over-sized fruits and vegetable hidden beneath thick layers of dust. The periphery of the store was open to what seemed to be endless farm fields. Onions, watermelons, okra, cauliflower, and other, unidentifiable, vegetation sat in random rows and hills.
Yet another scene change. The ex-wife of another brother appeared. She held a pair of scissors, with which she snipped healthy sprigs of cilantro from dry and dying plants—then, she tied the sprigs into bundles, using thick strings of sisal fiber.
At some point, I realized all of these scenes had been repeated several times. I was both watching and re-watching and—acting in—a movie, both as part of the audience and as a member of the cast. Minor changes seemed to have been made with each viewing/participation, but I knew the revisions were immaterial and that the film was a true-to-life reenactment destined to be used, somehow, in court.
I woke, gasping for air; choking on wet dust and dry mud. Lest this oh-so-realistic be confused for the outline of a documentary, I must admit it constitutes only a simple outline of a labyrinthine dream.
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Yesterday, I read a compelling article in the New York Times about the Canadian Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID) law. Almost every time I consume information about Canada’s approach to complex issues such as euthanasia, physician-assisted suicide, etc., etc., I admire Canada more. Despite being an emotion-charged matter with supporters and opponents on both sides of a difficult issue, Canadians have tackled it logically and in a dignified manner. I want to be Canadian.
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Barely after 8:00 a.m. and I would love to return to bed for an hour or six.
Bev, stories of your actual experiences were the triggers that took me back to your blogs so often. I love to read about your travels to and from Bisbee and your interactions with locals (and lots of others) along the way.
Here’s the amusing part, John. The story about the general store in Mitchell actually happened — not a dream, but reality. That’s a very strange part of Oregon — most of the population are cattle ranchers. You could probably buy steak sauce in that store, but the bottle of soy sauce was probably on the shelf for 5 years. They didn’t seem to eat fresh vegetables there — mostly canned. I noticed lots of canned beans in sauce. The geology and landscape is insanely beautiful — the Painted Hills are close by — but it doesn’t seem to be an area that welcomes strangers — especially strangers who look strange to the locals. I could say more, but I don’t like to be critical of people living in other places where I’m just passing through. Anyhow, it was an experience for sure — one of many on that particular adventure with my old friend, Paul. He and I went on several expeditions over the years, to photograph wildlife in remote places. He was, after Don, my closest friend. He used to call me “the brother he never had.” 🙂
Bev, your dream about the general store in Mitchell, Oregon is intriguing. I especially liked the wanna-be cowboy eating Lipton’s Cuppa Soup with a fork. 🙂 Oregon may be nice, by the way, but I still think I’d prefer Canada!
Your dreams and your recollection of them, never cease to amaze me. I don’t think I dream very much and only rarely can remember the details unless it’s a very outstanding sort of dream (which is rare indeed).
I think I was once in that general store — in Mitchell, Oregon. I bought a bottle of soy sauce – the only bottle they had – that was covered with a thick coating of grease and dust – like a dusty skin over the bottle. I was craving vegetables as I’d used up the supply I had from a farmstead near Spray (I was camped in the John Day Fossil Beds regions of central Oregon). All I could find in the store were some wilted carrots and a bit of broccoli in one of those old wooden refrigerators. They were not very good but I cooked them up anyhow. In any case, the whole store was abysmal. Outside was a wanna-be cowboy eating Lipton’s Cuppa Soup with a fork. I was traveling with a friend who was wearing a French beret and a fluffy pink scarf – yes, I suppose unusual for a 6’5″ tall bearded man. As we climbed into my van, the cowboy shouted, “We don’t like your kind in our town!!” My friend got back out of the van and walked over to ask what that was supposed to mean. It was all pretty funny but I remember sitting in the van rolling my eyes as I listened to what followed. Well, that’s my riff on your dream about the general store. I’ve been thinking of farm fields, dust, vegetables too –but as a result of video clips being posted by UFW of vegetable field workers in California. The hard, repetitive work that they do under terrible conditions — and so under-appreciated by the public. I re-posted a video of a woman picking radishes yesterday.
Yes, MAID. It’s pretty much accepted here. There are critics and some kooks who are against it, but a lot of time and consultation went into its development. That’s actually typical of most things in Canada. We study and consult a lot – and try to get things right. It all still needs more work, but it’s been functioning okay for a few years. It gets tweaked as time passes. I am very appreciative of how most things function in Canada — especially lately.