Sitting in Bed

I am sitting in bed, cross-legged, covers over and 'lap top' on top.

Slept in this moring.

It's 10:02 A.M. Got up 40 minutes ago, made tea, fed the five cats, gave Sylvester-cat his needle. He's diabetic you see.

I put the raisen toast in the toaster, retrieved the Sunday paper from the door step, poured the tea, prepared the toast for us and came back to bed.

While Jane read the paper I wrote my dream in my journal.
Dreams are just so damned strange.
Do you write yours down? Most people don't. Some feel it's a waste of time while others claim they don't remember them. But they could -if they wanted to, they just have to know how.

But those of us who do write dreams, tend to collect them. And some are really quite intriguing.

One just never knows where one (and I do mean YOU) as a character are going to pop up in a given dream or even how the landscape is going to be.

I've had dreams where the ocean meets the shore, -down by the Maple shopping centre -... so much for Lorraine Robichaud's house, or the late Scott Brydon's, or Scott Roger's place on Massey Drive, somewhere beneath the waves.

I had one where, just off Craik street in the woods, a great earth mound swells up the height of Mercier Bridge in the middle of the night. At it's apex a ridge circling a crater appears, jagged edge glowing as people run in terror towards Saint Francis Street, as the ominous sound of a bass fog horn vibrates from within.

In my dreams, I also hear music, see colors, and have drawn out conversations with people.

This morning I awoke with a beautiful refrain stuck in my head. I've never heard the song before, but the notes are really quite haunting. I sang them to Jane. She had never heard the melody before, but she agreed, it did sound catchy. It had a hook. I should quickly record it into my recorder before I forget it.

In this morning's dream I was walking over to the highschool from the Shopping centre to make sure my son wouldn't miss having his picture taken by the picture man who comes every year. (Do you remember him? He was about 5'7", thin, wavy hair, had an elfin face and always got us laughing despite ourselves. Then he would snap the picture!)

I never did find my son at the school, so I went back to the shopping centre where I came upon brothers Mark and John Stafford.

All together, we proceeded down the mall towards the Super C (used to be Steinburgs back in the day), entering into a deli (where Deutshe Jewlery used to stand). It had all kinds of wonderful things imported fron all over the world (Hmmm! We could use one of those right about now!) Mark selecetd a plastic transparent bucket and handed it over the counter to the proprietor who then placed it under the spigot and began extruding soft chocolate icecream. "Wow" I thought, Mark must like his chocolate icecream!"

I went further into the store, to the back where I came upon a serving area for teas, coffee and smoked meat.

Behind that counter was the pretty Rene Robitaille from Seignory Park area, who used to live down the street from my parents, beside the Chappels place. (I thought, "That's strange! Isn't she actually a brain surgeon or Doctor of some sort down in the USA? What's she doing serving smoked meat in Chateauguay?) (Now those kind of things are hints from the subconscious directed to me, to let me know I am in fact dreaming, so keep mind memory rolling for what is to come...)

We decided to have a coffee. Trying to find a seat, I noticed at one table, Mr.Spratt and his daughters. That would be the father of Jane, Elaine and Sally. I greeted him and and chattted breifly, introducing him to Mark and John. (Now, just for the record, I never knew him outside my dream but what the heck! It was a dream! But I do remember him at the highschool teaching the finer points of table tennis. (I never participated but only passed by when he was there once.) He was a champion in England I believe. (Or so Bob Houston says.)

Ah! I am being called to breakfast again. Gotta go!