It's all too real

I love sleep.  I remember as a kid I used to sleep all the time.  I think sometimes that perhaps my dreams are just so much more intriguing that real life and that's why I enjoy sleeping so much.  Actually, I also just love that snuggly feeling of being curled up in a blanket and warm.  I wish I could be sleeping right now.
But as far back as I can remember I've always been able to remember most of my dreams or at least parts of them.  One time I had this recurring dream that after I shared it with my brother, he told me a long kept family secret that explained the dream.  (I don't know you that well to share that secret publicly--sorry.) 
I've always had odd sleeping patterns.  My brother got married when I was 14 and we stayed in a hotel.  I got out of my bed, walked all the way down the hall before I woke up and started knocking on a stranger's door thinking it was my parents.  When I studied abroad I would wake up and walk towards the door to answer it.  A classmate sat me back in the bed and told me to go back to sleep.  I've been accused of sitting straight up in bed and being frightened.  People tell me everything is okay, and I go back to bed.  They tell me these things, but I don't always remember them in the morning.   But those are the incidences I remember because I was sharing a room.
Some years back I worked as a Residential Coordinator and had both a pager and a cell phone.  The job was rather stressful and at times I would wake up in the middle of the night because I had a dream that was so real.  I would dream that their was a third device that I had somehow lost.  I would wake up in a panic and start looking for this device.  I never could find it because it didn't exist.  It would take me several minutes to bring myself back to reality. 
After I quit that job and went back to school, I thought those dreams were gone.  Then one time I was traveling home for the summer, and I stayed in a hotel room.  I dreamt that my room was being burglarized while I was sleeping.  I woke up and couldn't move.  My body was frozen so that the criminals didn't know that I was awake.  Again it took me several minutes before realizing they weren't real.  My dream had been so real down to the details of the room I was staying in. 
I will most likely never be free of these dreams.  But lately they have taken on a new life.  They are full of bugs.  And I'm terrified of these bugs.  They are crawling out of my pillow.  Sometimes they are snakes but mostly bugs. 
The odd thing is that I'm not usually scared of bugs.  My house is pretty empty of bugs other than the occasional spider or the ants that I took care of months ago.  I never know why the bugs are there.  I don't know what makes me dream those dreams.  But I do know that I wake up terrified of them.  I believe they are in my pillow.  I jump out of bed.  Sometimes I have to turn the light on and stare at my pillow for several minutes before I'm sure it was all a dream.
Luckily, I have a man that tells me it's all okay and that I should go back to bed.  But I'm too curious a person to just let it go.  It's just going to keep bugging me.

The Tortured Artist

It will be Thursday again soon.  It's the day that I get to stay home and do fun stuff.  Except, it's rarely that fun.  It often involves catching up on laundry or dishes, or even worse, grading exams.  I did run away this last Thursday and traveled with my mother and brother to Lake Placid for the day.  We used to travel there every year for my dad's birthday.  I've made sure we keep that tradition. 
I don't have to stay home to have fun on those days.  Sometimes exceptions are necessary, like spending family time to see the leaves changing colors in a town that is familiar and comfortable but still exciting.  But if I did happen to stay home, then I can imagine lots of fantastic craft projects that would be a great way to use my time.  Here's my journey.
You see for years I've lived in apartments, shared spaces with other people, and always dreamed of having my own craft room.  Every time you move and want to start a project you accumulate more stuff.  You loose track of that awesome fabric or yarn you were going to make something with.  Over the years I must have purchased twenty glue guns alone.  You never feel like you can do a proper job because you never have the right tools or the right space.
That was all about to change when I bought my house last year.  It was three bedrooms, correction, two bedrooms and a craft room.  Yes, I would have my craft room.  In fact, it was the first room I painted.  And then it started to go down hill.  The heater in my bedroom broke, and the other bedroom was half painted (for several months.)  So my bed was "temporarily" placed in the craft room.  Then when I moved out of that room, it was used for storage.  We bought a table for the room, that eventually made it up there.  The bins of supplies collected over years remained in the basement. 
But recently, yes recently, I found a dresser that I re-purposed for the room quite fantastically if I do say so myself.  I rearranged the table and an extra desk.  I sorted boxes of goods.  I purchased bins for the closet for more materials.  I've moved several bins upstairs and sorted two of them.  And actually, I started a project while sitting at my craft table. 
It's finally coming together.  Now if only I can find the time to use it.

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My dad.
He was easy.  He loved very few things in life but what he loved, he truly loved.  He was a farmer.  He grew up with two brother and two sisters on a family farm.  When he married my mom, rather late in life (28!) he was able to purchase one of the family farms and moved a very small half mile away from his family.  My grandfather passed away young, so I never met him.  But my dad made sure I knew who he was.  I think he would have been an awesome grandfather.  My grandmother used to let me spend the weekends with her.  We'd cook, nap, crochet, and play games.
I think that's where my dad got his game playing skills from.  She was competitive.  I used to spend hours sitting on my dad's bed playing cards with him.  When we were younger we'd play Monopoly.  I remember the day I finally won.  But we didn't stop playing we just learned new games (and kept Monopoly for those rainy days and holidays.)
My dad was a hard worker.  He loved his job.  He knew more about cows and farming than anyone I've ever met.  He had a passion about it.  He was sad the day he had to retire from farming.  It broke his heart.  But his family stood by and helped him through it.
Family.  More than farming this was the word to describe my dad.  He loved his family more than anything.  I'd like to believe I was his favorite, but I know he loved each one of us.
There are days that he is heavily on my mind.  We used to go grocery shopping together.  Or we would garden together.  We cooked often.  We made bread.  We used to build things.  Or we'd go visit my uncle and talk about farming and growing chickens.
He was a wise and generous man and is greatly missed.

My favorite photo of us is in my office.  I took it to the printer and scanned it and this is what I got.  It is a photo of my dad and I on his last birthday we celebrated together.  I love this picture because of the smile on his face.  All I can say is "love."

A roaring adventure

I remember growing up in a house smelling like vinegar in the summer.  My parents had a huge garden and always grew lots of canning produce like tomatoes, apples, and of course cucumbers.  I remember my dad getting out the meat cutter (you know like those that the deli people use to cut deli meat) and slicing cucumbers for hours.  The cats would always run away scared from the noises.  My parents were always afraid that any draft would break the hot jars as the came out of the water so all doors and windows were to remain shut.  I remember one year they had canned over 150 quarts.  They were mostly pickles in different varieties.  I miss those days.
So this year when I grew my first garden I was excited to can as well.  Our tomatoes are beautiful, sitting large and green on the plants....in October!  I am fearful that they won't ripen before the frost gets them.  But my banana peppers did very well and between those, some locally grown beets (I love beets) and apples from my mom and friend's orchard, I had enough to do some canning last night.

I washed and cut up the peppers and made a vinegar sauce (reminded me of home).  I added some locally grown garlic and canned 7 half pints of pickled peppers.  Meanwhile I had some cherry tomatoes slow roasting in the oven with some olive oil and fresh local garlic.  I then proceeded to cook, cut, and stuff the beets into the jar while the apples I had cored were cooking on the stove.  I've found that pink applesauce is best (it saves you from peeling them.)  I ended up with four pints of pickled beets and two pints of applesauce.  The whole process took about three and a half hours.  I slept very well last night.
My parents are my heroes. 

Reading-what's that?

My boyfriend doesn't understand why I want to blog.  You have to understand that he's an intelligent person but just doesn't get any enjoyment out of reading for fun and can't understand why anyone else would either.  He asks why I think random strangers would read what I write?  And more importantly why I would want them to?  I can't explain it to him.  There is something therapeutic about writing down my thoughts even if nobody reads them, or even if some stranger reads them. 
I read blogs.  I have some friends who keep blogs, and it lets me know what's going on in their life.  I read strangers' blogs.  Today a dear old friend shared his blogspot with me--and it's been the best part of my day. 
In a world where there is so much going on, sometimes it is just nice to take a deeper look at someone.  Stop and admire their pictures and imagine what their life must be like.  I find the pictures the most fascinating.   It gives me perspective on my life.  It makes me think that maybe there's someone out there who reads my blog and wonders who I really am. 
Perhaps I need to figure out how to post pictures...

Being a grownup

Between a teaching schedule of Mondays/Wednesdays/Fridays and packing lots of office hours on Tuesdays, I'm able to enjoy Thursdays at home.  Yesterday I even woke up early and watched a Netflix movie that had been sitting on the tv stand for a month.  Then I took a nap and after proceeded to clean the kitchen.  Five hours later, I wondered where my day off went.  I'm new to the home owning lifestyle and although it excites me to have a place to call home after many years of vagrancy, the responsibilities are much more than expected.  I often consider myself lucky if I can see the counter top in the kitchen, only a load or two of laundry waiting to be done, and enough toilet paper to make it until the weekend when I can go grocery shopping.  So when do I have time to mop the floors, vacuum the cat hair off the furniture, and rid my house of the hundreds of spiders and bunnies (of the dust variety) that have moved in since I bought my house just a year ago.  Perhaps someone else knows how to have it all and keep it all clean.  But it's not me.