My husband and I recently upgraded our home security system.
Years ago, after we moved into our current home (in the summer of 1996), a couple of our friends experienced break-ins and robberies. It deeply upset Göran, to the point that we invested in a home security system.
As it turns out, no one's ever attempted to rob our house in the seventeen years since. The alarm's been triggered a couple of times -- by our cats. One Sunday morning around Christmas time, for instance, we woke up early in the morning to the wailing of the break-in siren. Göran ran down the stairs, naked and armed with a metal baseball bat, ready to defend our turf, only to find out that one of our cats had triggered the glass-break alarm by knocking the Christmas tree over. On another occasion, while I was on a business trip in Chicago, one of our cats also knocked over a $350 raku vase, with similar results, but this time bringing the police to our residence (since Göran was out with friends). We weren't quite sure which cat, but we think it was Cleopatra.
Still, we have to have the system for Göran's peace of mind. Within the past week, our next door neighbor's garage and another neighbor's garage down the alley were broken into and plundered.
Our upgrades are pretty cool. Video camera surveillance of the property. And everything will be remotely controlled and connected to our iPhones. We can access the surveillance cameras on our phones and see what's going on at home any time we want. We will now get instant notification by text message (with pictures!) whenever an event is triggered.
Heh! Now we'll know for sure which cat to blame for domestic mayhem!
If I had my druthers, we'd do without it. I imagine myself living in pure and ascetic simplicity, without a TV or fancy game systems or computers or expensive furniture or precious china. I guess I'd need a fridge. A small one. And a stove. A few changes of clothes and my books and notebooks.
I'd be like Bishop Myriel of Les Misérables. If anyone stole something from me, I'd just say, "They must have needed it more than I did." You can't be robbed if you don't really consider yourself to own anything in the first place.
On the other hand, it doesn't distress me that we own lots of "stuff" that I honestly think we could do without. If my family needs it, then I "need" it. What counts to me is their happiness and safety. So we're getting the security upgrades.
But I do wonder if, one morning, we woke up like the Whos in Whoville on Christmas morning, to find that even the roast beast was gone, would we learn what it is that really makes us happy? (Each other.)
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Surviving the Crash
I had a very peculiar dream last night that Göran and I were in a plane crash. Our plane hit an unexpected storm shortly after it had taken off from MSP International Aiport, and went down somewhere in western Wisconsin.
In my dream, I was watching (from outside my body) paramedics place my body in an ambulance and take it to a hospital. I was very aware that if I (my consciousness/my spirit?) were not quickly reattached to my body, my body would die.
I stayed very close to the paramedics, and I kept saying, "When are you going to reattach me to my body?" But the paramedics didn't seem to be paying much attention to me or even noticing me. I figured they were busy.
After we reached the hospital, they laid my body on some kind of cart in a big room. I went over to it to look at it, and it looked to me as if it were "wilting," the way flowers wilt after you cut them, if you don't put them in water. I was particularly studying my hands, seeing how crumpled up and small they looked, and I thought, "It's probably already too late to save my hands. There's probably too much neurological damage."
I gradually realized that I was probably actually dead, and it was time to go find Göran and move on.
*****
I was struck by how weirdly similar this dream was to pop cultural portrayals of the after death experience in movies and TV, like, say, the movie The Sixth Sense. About a year ago, I shared my review of James Hillman's book, The Dream and the Underworld, in which Hillman argues that Greco-Roman underworld mythology was actually the product of dreams. Are our pop culture portrayals of after-death experiences also a product of dreams? Or was my dream the product of pop cultural portrayals? Another one of the many mysterious questions I'm filing away for future reference.
I told this dream to my husband this morning, and he was actually pretty appalled. I said, "I had a strange dream last night." And after I described it, he said, "That wasn't a dream that was a nightmare!" But oddly, I did not experience it as a scary dream. I felt quite calm and at peace throughout. The feeling I experienced upon discovering I was dead was more one of surprise than fear or anger or regret.
I woke up thinking, basically, "Oh, I guess I can survive a plane crash, even if I die in it."
In my dream, I was watching (from outside my body) paramedics place my body in an ambulance and take it to a hospital. I was very aware that if I (my consciousness/my spirit?) were not quickly reattached to my body, my body would die.
I stayed very close to the paramedics, and I kept saying, "When are you going to reattach me to my body?" But the paramedics didn't seem to be paying much attention to me or even noticing me. I figured they were busy.
After we reached the hospital, they laid my body on some kind of cart in a big room. I went over to it to look at it, and it looked to me as if it were "wilting," the way flowers wilt after you cut them, if you don't put them in water. I was particularly studying my hands, seeing how crumpled up and small they looked, and I thought, "It's probably already too late to save my hands. There's probably too much neurological damage."
I gradually realized that I was probably actually dead, and it was time to go find Göran and move on.
*****
I was struck by how weirdly similar this dream was to pop cultural portrayals of the after death experience in movies and TV, like, say, the movie The Sixth Sense. About a year ago, I shared my review of James Hillman's book, The Dream and the Underworld, in which Hillman argues that Greco-Roman underworld mythology was actually the product of dreams. Are our pop culture portrayals of after-death experiences also a product of dreams? Or was my dream the product of pop cultural portrayals? Another one of the many mysterious questions I'm filing away for future reference.
I told this dream to my husband this morning, and he was actually pretty appalled. I said, "I had a strange dream last night." And after I described it, he said, "That wasn't a dream that was a nightmare!" But oddly, I did not experience it as a scary dream. I felt quite calm and at peace throughout. The feeling I experienced upon discovering I was dead was more one of surprise than fear or anger or regret.
I woke up thinking, basically, "Oh, I guess I can survive a plane crash, even if I die in it."
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