Dream

"Suppose last night you had two dreams. In one, God appears and commands you to take a year off and travel the world. In the other, God commands you to take a year off to go work in a leper colony. Which of those dreams, if either, would you consider meaningful? Or suppose you had one dream in which your friend defends you against enemies, and another dream in which that same friend goes behind your back and tries to seduce your significant other? Which dream would you take seriously?" This opens a New York Times article about dreams. It goes on to say that finally we know whether dreams are good or bad and how to interpret them. The rest of the article says no one knows for sure.

My dream was like a video. I'm on a mountain lift - one of those things that take you for a ride up the mountain. It's an incredible view - desert with mountains and a lot of sky. Right near the top, I know that we're falling - falling to our death. I hold up my cell phone, and we (not sure who my companion is) both smile a big smile for the picture. Then it seems I win an award for this astonishing picture. I'd had a restless kind of night - leg cramps. Sleep was scarce and I believe this dream happened in the latter part of the evening.
It was a very clear story, clear enough that when I woke I played it over in my mind. I felt sure I had the story line down pat, but I had done this before and knew that I had to scribble the outline somewhere or it would be gone.
Sure enough. I start describing it next afternoon, and it's gone. I came back here and found it scribbled on the side of a newspaper crossword puzzle.
I've heard that it's good to dream. It's the way the brain cleans itself out. Or something like that. I don't know whether that's true or not. The brain is a very complicated item - perhaps. Or also it could be that it's just like a video that replays stange clips sometimes in the right order, and sometimes in the wrong order.

"the poor little thing!"

I noticed her right away - "not a baby anymore" girl child in a harness on her back - facing her mom's back with legs spread out dangling back and forth. And that's what they did. The mom was walking quite fast - enough to make the legs dangle back and forth.
We were sitting close to the gift store on the ferry in an outdoor eating area. The Mom went into the store, but even then she slowed only a little. In fact this pace was why I started watching her. Somewhat frantic about it. Another reason was the age of the child. This was not a Mom trying to get a baby to sleep. There was something else going on. The little girl seemed happy enough.
We moved around a bit and I lost track of her.
The weather turned cold and we wandered indoors. A main area with lots of empty seats. Football on TV.
Suddenly she was there again. Up and down the aisle right next to us. Same pace but the little girl looked unsettled and weary.
I started working on my crossword puzzle. A family of Mom, Dad, and 2 little boys were having a wonderful game with puppets and this took my complete attention for a spell. They had window seats and suddenly I saw her again walking quickly on the outside deck. A wicked cold wind. The little girl was crying hard and moving her head back and forth. The Mom ignored this, kept pounding back and forth. The same piece of deck, up and down, up and down. No sweater on either of them.
When she appeared inside I realized why it was the same piece of deck. A young man sat at a table with a lap top open. She stopped there and started rummaging in a bag lying on the seat beside him. Everything came together in that instant. They were a couple and there was something amiss between them. She was pounding that same piece of deck because he was sitting there and couldn't miss her. By this time the little girl's face was red from the cold and the crying. My heart went out to her. Something distant between man and child made me wonder whether this little girl was his little girl. Saying nothing, her mom took something out of the bag and disappeared. 10 minutes later we were heading down to our car. I never saw them again.

Breakfast at Denny's

We hear it as soon as we open the door.
"You have a good day now!" "Can I get you more coffee?"
Americans have always been good at service. They seem to like their jobs. They seem very happy to bring you food, keep you happy and take your money for it. As well they should.
"Denny's" in Bakersfield, California was full. Every table. Every booth. When you walk into a place like this for a good breakfast, you know they are doing something right.
We are taken to a clean table and promptly have a cup of coffee put in front of us.
I want granola and fruit. It is new on the menu and seems tied in with a bigger breakfast item.
Our waitress explains that the granola will cost me $2.95 and the fresh fruit $3.95 if I don't take the bigger breakfast item. I say okay.
Merv orders his breakfast. She looks at him with a smile. "Sir, if you make a small adjustment to your order, your wife can get her granola for 49 cents and her fruit for 59 cents! We'll just make it all one order."
We are very happy with this and away she goes.
The breakfast is delicious.
And somehow they have figured out how to keep you happy without constantly being in your face. They put a thermos of coffee on your table. They slip in and out the odd time, adjusting this or that, but never do you feel put upon or pestered.
A friend said this was because jobs are so hard to come by here, that they have to do all this to keep their jobs.
I don't agree with him. We have been in the U.S. many times, and many years ago. This service style was around then, and is exactly the same now.
In Canada, service people often make you feel that they wished they were anywhere but there. That life dealt them a bad blow when they had to resort to "waiting on tables".
Not Americans. They wish you a "good morning", give you their opinion of whatever comes up in the conversation, make sure that you get the kind of order that you want, and send you on your way with a cheery "See you again!"
I like that.

Update on hotel beds

"Two pillow types are provided for your comfort.
Choose from down & feather in the front
and a down alternative in the back"

This is the 3rd hotel with this conformation. Four pillows, 2 front, and 2 back. All white. These are not decorative pillows.
4 white pillows and a card laying there waiting for our trembling fingers to pick it up, read it and faint with delight.
Merv was the one who noticed. "Look at these pillows. They're all different".
It must cost these hotels a lot to keep making these changes to their rooms.
The feather pillows are small and huggable. I'm sure that people will like them the best. They should have used the cards for votes! But 4 pillows are great for me. I love a lot of pillows and have them thrown up and down and round about my bed as the night progresses.
Another change. Bed size. The "double" is back! Instead of 2 queen sized beds - 2 double sized beds! It's great - plenty of sleeping room, but more space. And a whole pile full of double sized bedding!

Big Brother

I suppose all email programs are different.
On my email program, I've started to notice that the content of the emails I get is reflected in the rest of the page.
This morning I got a letter from a friend about her health.
On the edges of the screen were all these links to health problems.

Tinnitus Symptoms?
Latest Products that will Give you Back Your Life. Buy Now Online!
www.biogetica.com
Headache Symptom
Learn About Headache Symptom Advice Headache Symptom
AllergySupply.com/Headache-Symptom
More about...
Taste Buds »
Im Tired »
Tired Eyes »

I had this strange feeling that someone was looking over my shoulder as I read my friend's letter.
"Oh yah, that's so irritating - I hate it when that happens. You could try some of these products."
Everyone seems to be so concerned with their privacy on the internet. I've never seen any comments about this.

Garbage

Great name. It's not really an 'incinerator'. More like a 'garberator'.
This new place we bought has one. In the sink.
You put garbage down the hole in the sink. The switch is under the sink. With the tap turned on and a pretty big noise, these little blades go round and round and chew up the garbage and send it down some hole to oblivion. One blade goes around one way and the other blade goes round the opposite way.
But whatever way they go - there is very little garbage remaining.
Its favorite garbage is veggie and fruit garbage. A visit to the website says "Ham bones!?" "Drumsticks"!? "Pork bones"!? I haven't gone there yet, and don't think I will. The website has pics of carrots, pasta, celery, potato peels, drumsticks.
I love this thing.
Peel and chop and throw the rest in the sink. Push it down. Wash it down.
One day I went down the hole. Yep. Put on my plastic glove and felt around down there. Found a few "leftovers" - and from then on I clean it regularly this way. Nothing is left in the grinding chamber.
We eat a lot of onions. Peel a big onion. I'm wasteful and I throw out a good-sized outer ring. After grinding, here's what I found. The thin brownish papery outer part? Untouched! the blades don't touch it! Although damp of course, it's uncut and all there. Too delicate.
But this baby can chop up a pile of stuff in seconds. In most cases, leaving nothing.
It's my favorite toy.

Gauntlet Poem

My friend threw down the gauntlet. We decided to take snippets from a few of our blogs, and see how they might come together - story line be damned. I posted 12 blogs in June. These are the bits from those blogs.
My university grandson did a lot better job with his, but he's young, and I think the young have a better feel for this kind of "laissez-faire" writing. It was fun.

Here I am in this empty house, staring at the damp cloth in my hand
Sunlight streaming in.

"I forget what we meant to do with them, it was so long ago."
Shrugging it off - indifferent.

But little by little and bit by bit - we weighed each item's value
and filled the boxes.

tumbling over each other's sentences whatever the discussion
Satan and God and Jesus and Adam and Eve.

"It's all about attitude. Not facts.
It's all about how you react to the facts."

She thought about this old house and the building of it.
The contractor had to be home for his wedding.

He always parked his truck leaning sidewise just off the highway.
Betraying his way of thinking.

And then he died. In her arms, after breakfast one day.