Imagining: The Perfect Escape

I know that you’ve all been dying to ask, so I’m going to tell you…

We have two baby spiders! Two!

Yes, Socrates and Plato took a while to show up, but my summer spiders are now hanging tough in the bathroom set for remodeling. I speak to them daily, wishing them well or sometimes asking how their day has been. Little things matter, you know, especially to little things.

Don’t worry. They don’t answer, at least not that I can hear, but my theory is this: Spiders, like humans, talk. They gossip and gab. Word gets around. So, I figure that maybe someday if I get into a situation where a poisonous spider is about to bite me, it’ll suddenly recognize me and think, “Oh wait, that’s Cameo. I can’t bite her. She’s that nice lady who lets spiders live in her old bathroom. Pericles loved her gnat soufflé!” Perhaps they’ll even build a little shrine or even just name the wing of a spider hospital after me.

This is my escape.

Welcome to the place I get away to when the need arises, and sometimes even when not: my mind. Ever since I was a little girl, I daydreamed to my heart’s content, figuring everyone did. I’d make up stories and imagine all kinds of people, places, and things, and I still do. There were the dog superheroes, the psychic teens, and the police who wore yellow sunbonnets. There were also aliens with intergalactic recipes to die for (where do you think I got the gnat soufflé?) and the Yeti-like beasts who played cards and danced the tango in Miami. It never stops.

Don’t get the wrong idea here. I don’t live in my fantastical, escapist world; however, it does come in handy. For example, when I’m sitting in a waiting room and don’t feel like reading the latest issue of Modern Breasts, Glorious Molars, or Eye Doctoring Today, slipping off to an adventure where I heroically cap the Gulf oil spill or engage in a nice little conversation with Antonio Banderas is a pleasant diversion. Also, when I’m watching some inane, completely boring movie and need to remove myself from the bad acting, horrible dialogue, or silly plot, sometimes I take the story where I want it to go. Can you blame me?

As a child, I escaped not only into my imagination to have some fun, but to various places in the house where I grew up. These were not hiding places, mind you, but right out in the open. Not like Alice toppling down the rabbit hole at all, although I did manage to find adventure in my own back yard, or close to it.

Our dining room table sat right by a window, and I would find some crafty thing to do, settle into my chair at the table, and work away for hours. If I wasn’t there, I sat on the stairway by another window and played with my dolls or read. I always had my little spots to “escape” to, places in the house where I could plant my flag and hunker down. If not there, then into the myriad of stories in magazines and books I kept in easy reach.

If I want true physical escape and have enough money saved up, I head to one of the most gorgeous places in the world--the ocean. I enjoy the islands, the beautiful flowers, the breath-taking scenery, and the friendly people, but mostly, I just love watching the water and imagining the world beneath it and all the adventures I could have there. Next on my to do list is learning to snorkel and scuba dive so I can escape under the water and see what really lies beneath its inviting, albeit sometimes temperamental, waves.

Until then, chatting with Socrates, Plato, and Antonio Banderas will have to do. Happy escaping!