There is a place that I go when things get grabby … you know … that feeling that things outside you are dragging you in different directions or holding you fast in a malignant inertia? It’s both real and fictional. It’s our summer cottage at the end of Benem Road, just off Sanctuary Lane in Borodino.
Even when snow fills Benem Road, not much more than a wide path running next to a deep ravine, I seek the solitude and comfort of its simplicity. Accessibility then would be limited to the young with snowshoes. I have neither snowshoes nor youth to carry me down to the cottage. I go there in my daydreams.
Even on torrid summer days, when I am held captive by responsibilities or infirmities I resurrect images, visions, day dreams that soothe over the long lists of “to do’s” and bottles of pills and acres of undone promises.
There’s a fire in the wood stove and the scent of apple wood fills the air. A turkey is roasting in the kitchen oven and my family is busy with one of the board games that live in the bottom two shelves of the bookcase.
I am dreaming of a dream that has lingered in the places where such dreams dwell.
What would it be like to celebrate Thanksgiving at the cottage? We have never been able to do this, since we close up the place where we lived for the summer in October. There wouldn’t be any water to wash the dishes or flush the loo and some reality is more demanding than others. Then there is the weather…
Novembers aren’t always very cold, so the fact that the walls of the cottage are one board thick, that is, with no inside finishes, just two-by-fours and the sheathing … that shouldn’t make a difference. There’s a small wood stove with which I have a lot of experience and stacks of firewood culled from downed trees that can warm the main room. Preparation for the feast warms the kitchen and its surroundings.
Just off the porch, the lake, in this reverie, is alive with waves driven by a wind that comes from the southwest. Just perfect. The air is crisp and fresh and alive.
And I do dream this dream in midsummer, an escape from the stresses, the busyness of daily life … most of which I have concocted in my own head. I’ve been there in this daydream so many times, each time modified to accommodate the changes that have occurred in the real world.
Now there are two young almost-men, Emily’s children, one 12 and one 14 playing Clue or Mastermind, begging more us to join them. Twin two-year-old boys, also known as Ben’s boys, are enthralled by a miniature cabin we built … how many summers ago? More than thirty?
There is music from the old radio which can still play our ancient collection of CDs.
The music of our lives sets the stage.
Everything looks like a magazine spread … the kind where the hostess has picked wildflowers to decorate the table which has been set with a variety of curated (a popular word today) mismatched dinnerware. Everyone’s clothing looks like an ad from Ralph Lauren. Maybe Tommy Hilfiger apparel would be a better choice since he is from Elmira and staying local is good. And Ralph Lauren is from the Bronx … and I am from Brooklyn. Debating this shows why I need this escape.
We may have opened a bottle of wine or made mimosas or concocted a lusciously thick hot chocolate from the hot chocolate box that I put in the closet 20 years ago. Really…remember this is a daydream.
In this fantasy, we never really finish cooking or eating, rather the ambiance of being together as family, of sharing space, even if only in my head, is sufficient. The real world often intrudes before the turkey is done.
Of course, in this daydream, we are all healthy, reasonably not ugly and, did I mention that in this imaginary time and place, I have made myself 40 pounds lighter? Hey, it’s my daydream.
