Winter Daydreams

It seems lately that in any quiet moment, when I don’t have to be focused on anything in particular, I find myself daydreaming. I’ve been accused of daydreaming before. When I was in elementary school, in second grade, the teacher moved my seat away from the window because she said I was staring out the window and daydreaming too much. I think that was the first time I heard the term daydreaming and had it stick in my mind. It didn’t sound like something bad to me. And I learned pretty quickly that I did not need a window to do it. I’m still good at it. Officially daydreaming is “pleasant thoughts about something you would prefer to be doing.” The term first came into use in the English language in the 1680's. I wonder what they called it before then. In German it is called Tagtraum, literally “day-dream.” In Italian it is sogno ad occhi aperti which sounds lovely and translates as “asleep with your eyes open.” In Japanese it is kūsō, whose kanji means “sky thoughts,” which I find poetic.

 Kūsō, daydream in Kanji.

I looked up those translations because my daydreams of late are mostly about those far away places – Austria (still pining for a Vienna New Year’s), Italy (aching to visit Florence again), and Japan. It’s been over forty years since I was in Japan and it still haunts me. The past few years a longing to return there has been growing in me. I often find myself looking online at photographs of the places I once knew, especially Kyoto. I even took down one of my old Japanese language textbooks from the shelf and looked through the lessons. I quickly realized that after so many years of neglect and disuse, my grasp of the language is pitiful now. I sometimes watch shows about Japan in Japanese on the internet – mostly about food. For some reason I remember food words the most. Sitting here in the cold and snow of January, I daydream about being in Japan for sakura in the spring when the island is a cloud of cherry blossoms or in autumn when the maples are ablaze with color.

Japan during sakura.

Japan in the fall.

When I’m not daydreaming about Japan, I’m usually longing for Italy. It will be two years in February since we took our trip to Italy. When I look back through the photographs of that trip, it seems like a dream that I was ever there. I hope to go back some day and spend a longer time there. Someday. For now daydreams of Tuscany fill my winter musings.

My first morning in Florence.

My last evening in Florence.

And then there’s Florida. On a cold and gray winter’s day I do daydream about Florida a lot. I went there for the first and only time (so far) back in February of 2020, just before everything went crazy. I was enthralled by the flora – the orchids and bromelliads, and the fauna – especially the birds, the mild temperatures, the Gulf of Mexico, seashells – all of it. We plan to go back again this year, but we will see. Things aren’t looking too hopeful right now.

While in Florida last year.

Miriam and me on the beach.

One of our sunsets in Florida.

So, Austria is a pure daydream of a place I’ve never been to except in my mind. And Japan is a distant memory. But those other places – Italy in 2019 and Florida last winter – places I visited just before the world changed so drastically, have taken on the glow of a sort of vanished Golden Age, a world of freedoms I fear may never come again.

When I’m not filling my idle moments with daydreams of distant places, my mind is flooded with ideas and plans for this year’s gardens. I have big plans that get bigger with each iteration. Last year I expanded my garden into new and renewed parts of my property. Now with the neighboring property at my disposal, my garden plans have overflowed and exploded. There will be a big pumpkin patch, long rows of tomatoes, cabbages, broccoli, and cauliflower, and asparagus. I’ve been pricing supplies – seed starter trays, mulches, a new tiller. I hope to use the knowledge I’ve accumulated over almost 50 years of gardening to make this expansion more efficient and productive then ever. It’s all very exciting.

My Christmas amaryllis in full bloom.

And then to fuel my daydreams even more, the Murray McMurray Poultry catalog arrived in the mail last week. It is one of my favorite catalogs. I look through it over and over again taking notes, making a list, adding things, deleting things, honing it down to my dream flock. I love my little flock. After letting my flock dwindle for several years, last year I began to expand it again. I currently have 31 hens, one rooster, and a peacock. Right now, even though it’s winter when egg production is usually slow or nonexistent, I’m getting 15 to 20 eggs every day. One day last week I got 26! So this year, inspired by the McMurray catalog, I hope to expand my flock even more. But what kind of chickens will I add? That’s the fun part. The catalog lists so many interesting breeds – Blue Andalusian, Bielefelder, Buff Brahma, Buttercup, Partridge Cochin, Crevecoeur, Silver Gray Dorking – the list goes on and on. And then I start thinking that maybe this will be the year I’ll start a flock of bantams, just because I love them so much. And maybe we’ll get a companion for our peacock. And – look at page 70 where it lists Guinea Fowl! I’ve always wanted a flock of Guineas. Oh the visions that fill my waking dreams!

From the McMurray catalog.

So many breeds to choose from!

Last week my binge music was Bach. And not just any Bach. I binged on the Mass in B minor BWV 232. I listened to it almost every day, sometimes twice a day. Somehow it fit the times and my mood perfectly. It made me realize that there is greatness and beauty and genius in the souls of men to compose and perform such magnificent music. It bolstered my faith in humanity. Bach finished it in 1749, the year before his death when he had already gone blind. It probably was never performed during his lifetime. The first known public performance of it took place in 1786, 36 years after Bach’s death, at a benefit concert led by his son Carl Philipp Emanuel Bach. After that, the work fell into silence until a revival of interest in Bach in the 19th century. The Mass was described in the 19th century by the music editor Hans Georg Nägeli as “The Announcement of the Greatest Musical Work of All Times and All People” (in German that’s Ankündigung des größten musikalischen Kunstwerkes aller Zeiten und Völker – I love German it makes everything sound important and a bit brutal). I started listening to Bach when I was a teenager, but never approached the Mass. Somehow I thought it was not the sort of thing a Mormon boy would enjoy. Then in 1980 I heard a performance of it on the radio and fell in love with it instantly. I went out the next day and bought a recording of it and a printed copy of vocal score so I could follow along as I listened. It now sits permanently in the number two spot on my Favorite Music of All Time list, right after Bach’s St. Matthew Passion. The Mass in B minor is a complex and gorgeous work. Parts of it, the two Kyrie Eleison (Lord, have mercy) sections, the Gloria, and Cum Sancto Spiritu (With the Holy Spirit) sections, are majestic and powerful. In the Credo when the music flows from the somber Crucifixus (Crucified) into the triumphant and glorious Et Resurrexit (And is Risen), I get goosebumps. And when the slow chorus of Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum (I acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins) bursts into et expecto resurrectionem mortuorum, (I look for the resurrection of the dead) it is magnificent. Then comes the quiet and pleading Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi miserere nobis (Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy on us). And during the final Dona Nobis Pacem (Grant Us Peace) when the music swells and the trumpets and timpani come in, I just have to sit and let the music carry me away. If you’ve never listened to it, I recommend you set aside some time when you can sit undisturbed and listen. There is an excellent performance of it by the amazing Netherlands Bach Society on YouTube – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3FLbiDrn8IE .

Bach, the cover of my manuscript of the Mass, and the first page of Dona nobis pacem.

It is a gray and cold Sabbath day. The drive to and from church was uninspiring. The snow is patchy and dingy looking. We saw deer and turkeys in several places along the road scratching and pawing in the frozen ground for food. We are home and I’ve changed into warmer clothes. Stacey just lit the wood stove. I’m ready to spend a quiet afternoon nestled near it with a book, or perhaps I’ll just sit and listen to Bach again. Or maybe I’ll curl up and take a long nap while the winter creeps slowly onward.