Dear Dreamer, by Margaret Porter

By Margaret Porter

The woman regrets not listening better to the dreams her husband had shared

with her almost every morning. He was a remarkably vivid, detailed dreamer, recalling every color, shadow, shape, and placement in the dream’s setting. She’d learned to cope by offering him a half-smile as he unspooled the dreams into the air in front of him, her trying to catch every fifth word so she could urge him on whenever he’d ask, “Oh, now where was I?” She thought it the polite thing to do.

Some of his dreams were repetitious, the ones where they were all in a building that was about to collapse and he, by himself, had to find a way to get them all out. Or the ones where his exwife appeared, and they were young, and he was trying to get away from her but he couldn’t because she was everywhere, replicating, and he was terrified. Or the one where he had to make a presentation of his architect’s model for a fifty-million dollar building 10 minutes from now, and he had nothing to work with but a few index cards, scissors, and some Elmer’s glue.

The problem wasn’t only that her husband’s dreams were a bit tedious in repetition. It was that after all the details were unspooled, he’d toddle off into his day, his imagination empty and ready for a refill, hers now full. She’d be left with the imagery inside her head, which would nestle deep inside of her and crowd out more important things, begging her for their meaning. Why did he dream so often about his ex-wife? Why did dogs always talk to him in his dreams, and not cats? Why did she only appear if they were in peril, and never in the recurring lingerie model dream?

The woman never wanted to put him off by saying, “Enough with the dreams!” That was too great a risk. If she’d said that, he would apologize, cheerfully of course. He’d probably insist on a hug because he’d bored her, which she’d accept because she’d feel terrible for having said it in the first place. He’d had a career in measuring things, too, and would eventually realize that she had been putting up with the boring dream tales for all the long years of their marriage. This would cause him great consternation, so he’d alter his behavior. She feared this, because most of his behavior for all these years had been quite grand, and she’d noticed how other husbands had successfully changed one annoyance only to cause a domino effect of other changes. Hadn’t her friend Betty finally gotten her mate to stop picking hair out of his ears at the dinner table, only to have him suddenly grow hypersensitive about his grooming, dandying himself up so much that he’d attracted other women with his wife standing right there?

So it was a critical responsibility that she shouldered – her words carried the power to change the him, and she didn’t want him to alter a thing except the dream download. The woman loved her husband as a butterfly loves a bountiful garden, and his kindness, and scent, and decency had settled pleasantly into her after all these years. Sure, he’d shrunk a full inch with age, and was sagging in places where he once had muscle, but this made him all the more cuddly. He was also totally bald now, which made her laugh. When she was a young career woman, she’d chortled to her friends that she didn’t find bald men attractive. And wouldn’t you know it, here he comes along, a man bald by 30 with a diamond ring and a powerful love in his heart.

So, the woman had learned to nod interest when he’d told her of the dream where he found himself driving a butter-colored 1962 Karman Ghia all the way to Jocotopec, slamming into not one but three topes because, in his dream, they weren’t marked very well. His coffee went flying onto the beige leather passenger seat, which was empty save for the latest copy of the Guadalajara Reporter, the coffee soaking the main headline: “Mexico poverty reduced by half.” Then, a mule crossed the road and he had to stop, and he watched it wander down to the lake to take a swim. Then he woke up, and that day, with painters arriving, she’d felt doubly grateful.

Then, he’d giggled when he told of the dream about a birthday party for his daughter, still five years old, dressed in a green denim jumper and blouse of pink gingham. He’d baked the cake for the party – German chocolate, of course, as this was his daughter’s favorite – and how his ex-wife was sitting there, dressed in her finest Jones New York black wool suit, the one with the red velvet collar, still stewing about all the attention he was paying to the girl. He had smashed a piece of cake in his ex-wife’s face and a coconut had issued from her left nostril. Or, was it a pecan? He couldn’t really remember. Then he woke up. The woman had hoped it was a coconut.

Kim Novak showed up in a dream once, dressed in the pink gown from the movie Picnic, and she was clapping her hands in anticipation of a dance with him, standing in a torn shirt, his chest scraped with claw marks from Rosemary-the-teacher’s desperation. Miss Novak had long been her husband’s fantasy, and he was thrilled that he’d finally had a dream about her. The woman, not so much. Still, after that dream, he’d reached out to her the next night and they’d made love, and he’d called her “Marge, the pretty one,” as his hands gently stroked her body. She so hoped he would dream that one again.

Then all of a sudden, it was over. He’d woken up one morning and, while regaling her with the details of how, in his dream, he’d picked all the tangerines off the tree, one by one, until the entire bodega was full of them, the brilliant orange tumbling forth and overtaking Lena, the maid, who ran screaming in terror at the attack of citrus. The woman had stammered, “Dear, really – I have a telephone call to make.” He smiled and said, “All right,” then wandered into his office to check his email. He was awfully quiet, and when she went in with his morning tea, his head was on his keyboard and he wasn’t breathing.

The woman took his ashes back to his native Vermont and tossed them into Chaos Canyon. She was alone that day, as his daughter couldn’t make it and his son was in Africa. As he floated away into the verdant valley below, she called out to him, “Farewell, Dreamer!” but no echo returned.

Her life was too quiet after that, and she so wished that she’d caught at least every other word of his dreams.

Margaret Porter

Post-Pandemic Blues

We’ve heard from Dr. Fauci that the “pandemic” phase is behind us, yet COVID cases are still occurring and one more surge could come this

summer. I notice I’m still a tad jumpy around large crowds, where I grab my security mask, just to feel more protected. This reentry is not what I envisioned. I dreamed of a hard end to the plague and global celebrations akin to Mardi Gras.

The reality is more brutal. First, we had to go to every medical checkup which had been postponed for over two years.

I’d noticed a floating black spot in my vision. I thought it was a fruit fly, and I’d try swatting it away. I looked loopy to an observer, as I waved at nothing. Finally I realized the spot moved when my eyes moved. The optometrist saw a large floater, which I will soon get a second opinion on, as it may require retinal surgery.

The dermatologist in Ajijic told me there was a dramatic increase in diagnosed cancers because people had not received medical checks during the pandemic. I had a small skin cancer removed, proving her point. I remarked that I’d watched the spot change during the pandemic, and she explained that “evolution” is a key marker of trouble in dermatology. When skin marks change, head to your dermatologist, the sooner the better.

Diligence on dental care throughout isolation helped on this front. Our dental experience was much more positive. No issues. However, I know others who have had to have major, expensive procedures after the pandemic.

Postponing routine medical visits can have dire consequences. My stepson knew someone who delayed going in for medical treatment due to COVID fear. This individual is no longer with us. He succumbed to a different disease. This anecdote is a motivating factor for me to plan for other checkups.

These examples don’t even address those whom we lost to the pandemic. Almost everyone can share the loss of at least one friend or family member to COVID. The pangs of grief for those who are gone hits at the strangest times, and often. A simple reminder and being unable to call an individual to talk anymore, results in a heavy, homesick feeling.

A family member who is a psychologist shared that there are increased mental effects from COVID. Heightened anxiety is one issue. Long COVID can have brain fog as an effect. I have my moments of forgetfulness without brain fog! I am grateful to be vaccinated, as this supposedly helps prevent Long COVID.

So how are we to deal with this aftermath? One online workshop I attended recommended participating in activities which are not compatible with depression (Source, Lewinsohn and Graf, (1973) Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology.)

We need to walk outside in fresh air (Jane Goodall is a proponent of “forest bathing,” which involves sitting in the woods, in the company of trees.) Music and friends are antidotes to dark moods. People watching is good too. The people sitting down on the malecon watching everyone’s activities are on to something.

Animal watching in the wild is a healthy activity. The bird watchers in the village are exercising positivity.

Planning peace and quiet and spare time are considered beneficial. How delightful that some lazy activities are good for us!

I think I’ll go and play some of my favorite ’70s music, which always seems to transport me to a happier, more carefree time.

Katina Pontikes

By Jackie Kellum

Enjoy life’s journey

Our pets do not have watches to keep track of time. Time doesn’t

exist in a pet’s mind. The moment does! They do not worry themselves about being old. Our pet does not think: “Oh God! My life is almost over,” nor do they ask, “What have I accomplished in my life?”

Time is a concept that we as humans have come up with to mark our place in our life, and measure and count our accomplishments, gauge our happiness, etc. We let time define us, when we should define “our time.” So when we see our pets, we should look at them like a little furry Buddha, guiding us and letting them teach us the way to a happier life.

Pets establish boundaries, and we can do the same thing. Our pets are good at telling us verbally or by body language what they like or not, will agree to do something or not, etc. Humans, on the other hand, sometimes are hampered by being too “socially correct” about clearly and politely expressing what we don’t want others to do, what we are not willing to do, etc. We do this by tiptoeing around topics or softening our tone so as not to offend. While you shouldn’t feel the need to loudly broadcast your boundaries, it is okay to say no, and even say it again at times, to re-state (politely) your boundaries.

Pets know and do prioritize things in their life. They know how to relax. Both cats and dogs, when playing, running around like crazy, chasing unseen things, full speed ahead, and then stop. They pick a comfortable place, and just relax and recoup. Animals instinctively know when they need to rest. We humans have this instinct too, but we too often ignore it in favor of getting more things crossed off our never ending to-do lists. Learn from your pet, and think about how you can make rest and relaxation more of a priority in your life. It might not sound productive, but the more rested and relaxed you are, the better you’ll be in every aspect of your life.

Pets know how to focus on what is most important to them in their lives. Can we say the same about ourselves? A pet will tell you what is more important to him when he has to make choices. Like our pets, we only have just so much time, in a day, even in our whole life, so we need to be attentive of where we place our efforts and values. Take a moment, think of what is important in your life, and then consider on how much time and attention you’re giving to that part of your life. Pets teach us: Do the things that make you happy.

One of the best lessons we can learn from our pet is: stay endlessly curious. As humans, many times we are too busy and stressed, or feel we do not have time to be curious. But curiosity is one of life’s greatest gifts—and it’s free. It doesn’t stop giving if you’re open to experiencing it. As a child you no doubt were curious about a lot of things, and it gave you joy. Enjoy that curiosity once again, with a fresh perspective and hopefully newly found wisdom. Our pets have much to teach us, we just have to be observant and open to learning. If you are fortunate enough to have a family pet – AKA a furry Guru - you have a teacher who willingly enhances your life each day in many ways.

Jackie Kellum

By Scott Jones

Why Chiangmai?

2002 I gave, threw or packed away my worldly possessions and set off to possess the world—ten countries for starters. After two weeks in Hawaii, two more in China, and two months in Vietnam, Thailand was next.

Bangkok was abysmally busy and terminally polluted. I hit Chiangmai the next day. That was it. It felt like home. I’d always dreamed of living where I would vacation. The dream came alive. I took a trip back to America to scrape the mold off everything in storage I didn’t care about, retrieve motorcycle gear and visit family and friends. Besides them, the only thing I really missed about America was the promise of tissue paper in the toilet. Here I’m never sure what to do with all those hoses, bowls and bins of water.

Once you’re sufficiently hosed with the “bum gun,” how do you dry? Why don’t you see locals emerge with big wet spots in the groin area? Are there secret Thai diapers? Should I carry a portable hair dryer? So I came back home—Thailand—with only one regret: I should have moved here years ago.

I love Chiangmai’s blend of local and international flavors. Tall, sturdy, tank-topped, Viking girls with backpacks the size of water buffalo, but weighing a bit more. (The backpack, not the girls. Well, maybe.) Ageless, smiling, smooth-skinned Thais at the train station. (“Sawatdee. I’m 105 years old. I come to get my grandmother.”) And Chiangmai has over two billion, full-service tourist agencies. (“Where you go? Have special one-day trek/visa run with bamboo elephant rafting over waterfall while get massage during cooking course by completely hands on!”)

The best part of life in Chiangmai is where it lives: northern Thailand. I’ve got a big bike, and I take great big trips. I wrote a song about it, but the words without music is like a bike with no wheels, a hair dryer with no electricity, or only one chopstick. Come on over and hear the song and the sweet sounds of Thailand.

Ain’t it grand

In northern Thailand?

It’s like singin’ a song

Ain’t it grand

In northern Thailand?

Home where I belong

To temple bells at 4 a.m., the saffron monks arise.

Then slowly sounds of songbirds and roosters fill the skies.

The markets teem with friendly folks. You can see it in their eyes.

The Land of Smiles just comes alive in this city of Chiangmai.

The countryside’s a biker’s dream. It’s a living picture show.

Jungle roads snake through bamboo past muddy buffalo.

Climb the misty mountains where the cool rivers run.

Hike a hidden valley where you hardly see the sun.

Lisu hill tribe ladies look like human butterflies.

Their multi-colored costumes are candy for your eyes.

Tom yam takes your taste buds on a roller-coaster ride.

A festival for all my senses, I take Thailand for my bride.

Ain’t it grand

In northern Thailand?

It’s like singin’ a song

Ain’t it grand

In northern Thailand?

Home where I belong Scott Jones