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Crying about Childhood Lost, at Pilchuck...

I found myself in a lovely forested outdoor space. It didn't take long for me to realize I was at Pilchuck Glass School. I went into a cabin that was in the middle of the plaza, to find mom. She was in the kitchen, which looked an awful lot like my childhood kitchen. She was making sandwiches and had that sweet, calm, motherly way about her that I so cherish from my early childhood.
I went back out on the grounds and started wandering. I left mom in the kitchen, but for some reason I was still talking with her as I wandered. Her voice was with me, even when she was not. She was telling me about the hills that would turn into sledding routes when the snow came. The property was much more forested than I remember and I took note of the various roads that would be safe for sledding, and how one might have to build burms to prevent an out-of-control sledder from zipping right over the edge and down a steep hillside. Looking over the hill, on the Northwest side of the property, I spotted a large lake (much larger than the real Pilchuck pond). The water level was extremely low - so low that from my vantage, I could see the terrain of the rockbed that made up the bottom of the lake. I mentioned it out loud and another voice joined me - that of mom's friend Richard, long-time caretaker of the grounds up there. He verified that the water level was lower than ever before and that they could no longer rely on the lake for fishing or swimming.
Suddenly, I burst into tears. As I wandered back up to the main grounds, I sobbed and sobbed, crying from a place of deep hurt and sadness. "This place used to be my home!" I balked. "What happened?" I felt hurt that I couldn't live here anymore and that in my absence, the place had changed and grown and continued on without me. I cried for the lost innocence of childhood - those days before responsibility and worry. I think the feeling somehow incorporated the feeling of losing my mother as well. Or maybe it was a grand metaphor for just that.
Dan was with me at the school and I wanted to show him around a little bit, while I calmed down. We went to the gallery building and I brought him in to show him the different types of glass art. I showed him some Bill Morris pieces and some other works, whose authors I couldn't name. He honed in on a specific piece that caught his eye - a solid glass guitar that was mounted on the wall. It was strung and he picked it up and tried to play it. It was desperately out of tune and I chided him for touching the artwork. He was trying to tune it, going so far as to use tools to tighten the neck to try and get it to hold a tune. I was furious and growing more and more out of control as I frustratingly tried to get him to put it back. "Dammit! This is not an instrument, it's artwork. It's not meant to be in tune and you shouldn't be touching it!" A woman came in and I thought for sure we were in trouble. She and Dan began talking about the piece of art and she carefully coaxed him to return it to its mount on the wall. I observed that I had flown off the handle and asked myself why I'd had such a reaction. The only answer I could come up with was that when I had been up here last, I had been a child and was firmly told from day one, never to touch the art.
Out the window, I could see something happening out on the lawn and I went to the window to investigate. There was a woman, on top of one of the high buildings, throwing down some black construction paper cutouts of crows and their feathers. The cutouts were of crows in many various positions of furious flight and, combined with the individual feathers, gave a curious effect when falling to the ground. She had a large heap of said crows and finally grabbed the whole thing and flung it out, over the property. The mass of black paper in cool shapes came raining down and symbolized the start of a game that everyone was invited to join. Dan and I went out onto the lawn to see what was going on. The game involved grabbing a styrofoam shape, about the size of a football, that was strung on a large network of string. The whole thing was tangled and the game involved untangling the mess without letting go of the foam shape. In order to do so, we had to drag the mess out to the big field and spread out so we could see who needed to go where in order to untangle it.

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