Meeting a dark-haired girl at an Orthodox affair, there’s mutual attraction in our conversation, and soon I’m at her house, or more accurately, her parents’. Her mother rather encourages our interaction, and soon we’re dating or some such, despite the age difference. I make clear the limits in our relationship, but the companionship is enjoyable. At least she’s getting out into circulation.

Second part, leaving a church event, I’m swept away into a car with her family. Crushed into the back seat with her mother on my right, a brother on my left and another, facing me, in front. She’s to my far left. At one point, the driver, presumably her father, shifts from driving forward to extended reverse – and then quite fast – leaving the streets for rolling meadows and the like. It’s all exhilarating, we’re laughing wildly, happily – so this is a warm family and I’m part of it.

Somehow, it’s all back in my high-school years.

 

Marrying one of several sisters, but don’t know until the ceremony which one. Am pleased, though: attractive, tender, smart. Hardest part is going to be telling my parents, after the fact. Especially since we haven’t known each other long or well.

How old are you in your dreams?

I’m having trouble with my cell phone, an online functioning or access problem, Google maybe. Our son-in-law offers to help, works with it, patiently, for ages … tells me something about encryption. It’s somehow comforting, even if he does hand it back to me with a shrug. Don’t know if he’s fixed it or not.

In real life, it’s usually my wife or elder daughter who sets me straight on high-tech.

Looking down a wooded, snowy slope to a narrow, deep river – a steady stream/parade of sharks, tuna – big fish, almost minke size, all swimming in one direction silently, presumably upstream. Why? And why do I presume that? Me, watching – going off to get the kid, too.

Happy feeling … awe and mystery.

 

Revisiting an earlier dream site, I’m viewing whales from land as they frolic in the harbor beneath us.

I’ve since relocated to a small town where whales are, in fact, seen from the land. Just not many or often.

 

Later, my dreams returning to Ohio: Yellow Springs/Glen Helen (which now requires admission – imagine, trying to pay an admission fee in or even for a dream). Here the once-golden goddess becomes quite agitated and defensive when I mention my familiarity with whales.

Why is she even there?

Trying to drive up a very steep hill, something of a sparse residential area, solid, old white-frame houses … Can’t get all the way up, so back around to a well-lighted stand-alone bookstore – old-fashioned drugstore feeling.

The kid (suddenly she’s been with me all along) sees a friend and the friend’s mother, who takes us under wing – and off around another corner (now like old suburban blocks in Needham) – altogether, a good feeling, even when we don’t make it straight up the street (no argument from the youngster, who just shrugs it off humorously).

Still later, I raise my voice to my boss, who comes back with a curt – and decisive – firing. Instead of being defensive, I say simply, “OK.” Got a home, supportive family. They’ll take care of me. I can concentrate on my real work.

I have to meet a Quaker representative – AFSC or FCNL or some such – at the airport. Not actually an airport, but more the sense of waiting and greeting. A sunny, springtime morning, a little before 8 a.m. She {maybe an elderly he, the two overlap} is to make a presentation before a public-school crowd. We’re running late, which becomes a problem because I have to get a second Public Friend and am caught in transporting the two. Am supposed to get the second at 10, but the first is still at the lectern.

I greeted the first using “thee,” then realized she had no idea what was happening, so I added: “I guess it’s been a while since thee’s been addressed in Plain Speech.”

 

We’re at some kind of barbecue. A social setting, quite possibly extending from our Smoking Garden. I keep trying to put something on my plate – a sampling of this, a portion of that – but things keep spilling to the ground. Maybe I even miss my plate altogether. You’re trying to offer me something extra special you made, but even it fails to reach my mouth. But instead of being angry, you’re quite sympathetic and understanding, as if you know I’m sick or getting there.

One sequence involves covering a political convention. Miami? Savannah? Charlotte?

THE FIRST PART takes place in a large room with gauzy tea-color curtains and a slight breeze, likely a hotel ballroom. I see a friend from my high school days across the room but she does not see me and moves from the scene before I can break off the conversation I’m in.

THE SECOND SCENE is in a makeshift newsroom, lots of lively activity – Hugh McDiarmid may be running the show. I meet a young brunette (short hair), and there’s her coy, smiling reaction.

THINGS HEAT UP, but now I’m watching a young male with her (that is, somehow I’ve distanced myself). She’s ready for something wild – perhaps in a room just off the newsroom – a storage room? But the male, realizing how little he knows her, discovers he doesn’t have a condom and a wild pursuit follows … asking his coworkers, Do you have a …

THERE’S AN INTERLUDE of being out, as a team, covering the story and then trying to phone the newsroom, which is working out of borrowed space in another newspaper. (Part of the chain? Professional courtesy?) The switchboard has no idea what we’re talking about … until someone says something about … ?

A spate of dreams no doubt reflecting my {obsessed} drive to finish exterior painting projects before cold weather sets in. For example, I oversleep work, get to the office with just an hour left to edit and paginate wire pages. And then I discover they’ve moved the office, so I’m running through a building, up the stairs, opening doors, hoping to find the terminals and colleagues. (Recent Virtual Earth searches suggest the Review-Times building has been demolished and moved into the smaller addition; also, our quarters on Leonard Springs Road have been leveled, for a McMansion.)

Other dreams where I’m simply racing something, whatever …

WE’RE TOGETHER ON AN OLD FARM, one with a huge barn. We’re buying it. I say, “In New England, we build a woodshed connecting the house and barn.”

We enter and it’s a banquet hall, where she stands apart with a group of girlfriends. Sees a fire door and opens it. The alarm doesn’t go off. Instead, she’s in an anteroom, facing another door.

Told of the dream, she replies, “That’s good! I wasn’t afraid to open it.”

 

SHE’S WITH A NUMBER OF FORMER boyfriends and lovers, but knows it isn’t really them but someone else; each time, one would strip off his face like a mask. In time she identified the Lover as me, not by my face but by my HANDS.

 

AT THE MOTEL, I’M FLIRTING with two or three women. Maybe more?

As they pass each other, there’s friendship, not jealousy.

I’m supposed to run one – a newer one – to the airport, but each time I go out to the car, something else is missing from the dashboard. Speedometer, clock, etc. Stolen, stripped out overnight, while we slept. Not the hubcaps or battery, but the interior – controls – until I cannot drive anywhere.