Tuesday, July 7, 2009

burlap into velvet



I had Freud questioning my every motive in a dream recently, he asked certain questions about my limbo like state of mind these days, my constant worry and my fantasies....

So...what is on your mind today?

Selling the house.

And how do you feel about that?

Terribly nervous...breaking up is hard to do.

Very interesting way of putting it, how do you mean that?

I'm not sure, but it feels like a break up- like... you know, my house is going to find someone new, I'll be a distant memory.

Ahhhh! Of course! You have psychosomatic sexual feelings for your house as a lover...

Geez, no! This doesn't have anything to do with sex you cornball...this has everything to do with, you know- going steady and breaking up and moving on.

How do you fantasize your farm as...a secret lover-like wind that comes drifting in a window, a stern hard fence post, a timid shy sparrow or a garbage dump?

My, I may have to contemplate that a bit Mr. Freud, you're a weird one...I guess the garbage dump.

Oh my, that is a terrible sign! Women who use garbage dump as a symbol for the home/life are too sufficiently independent and make terrible partners. You will remain alone for the rest of your life I'm afraid.

Is that so?! Well, Dr. let me tell you something- I'd rather be alone than try to be something other than I am. Any man who can't see the good hearted woman standing in front of him is surely blind and I possess no special powers to give him sight.

On the other hand- this place was a dump 18 years ago, and through the years of toil and struggle and renovations... resurrection occurred. How many times has a person collected the garbage, saw something worth saving, loved it- turning burlap into velvet. And I suppose in our relationships we often see the good in that old piece of burlap and with loving intentions, try to make it velvet. Doesn't always work, but sometimes- like for instance this dump, my home- the more love I put in, the more I received. I learned that even though old houses can be drafty, leaky, weepy...in the grand scheme of all things, they also can be home and hearth and haven and harbor. And they hold more sadness and goodness than any sponge ever could, but it's best to leave both there in the dwelling, the foundation- for one without the other is meaningless. Is my hour up yet?

You need much more extensive talk therapy...your home to you is like a person, it is sticks and wood, just a thing I tell you. You must get this through your mind...

Sure, I suppose that kind of therapy would help me, if I could just forget and treat it like lumber and stone. Sir, I'd rather be tormented for the rest of my life with the heaviest happiest heartfelt memories than to treat a home like an object, it has been my friend through thick and thin. Good day to you...

And then poof! I woke up. I hope I dream of Joseph Campbell tonight, or maybe even Maslow..."Follow your bliss" and "forth into growth, backward into safety" and that kind of thing.

Take care...


7 comments:

Anonymous said...

Haha, your dreaming is out of control...I dreamed I made red velvet cupcakes. I've never done that in real life, but they were a hit in the dream. I wonder what that means??

Love, Rhi

Anonymous said...

Funny you should write this particular blog today. First song I heard this morning on my ipod while walking was Brian Setzer's swingin rendition of "This Old House." Give a listen. Then play, breaking up is hard to do. Love you
A

Anonymous said...

what kind of mushrooms you been putting on our pizza lol or maybe just lay off the caffeine long before bedtime. have a good day and take care

R.D.

troutbirder said...

Wooo. I'd stay away from that guy.

truewonder said...

It means you should make red velvet cupcakes, cupcake- and see what happens. And let me know...
Oh RD...
And TB...
This Old House, huh?! I'll have to listen...

Jayne said...

Silly man... he just doesn't "get" it! :c) We fully understand, truly.

Jane said...

This post is hysterical. Better to keep no company than to entertain bad!

Jane