And then this strange night: I woke up from a dream in which I was attending some art event as an invited panelist, with my usual fears of appearing in public and trying to look intelligent and well-informed. Ellie, not on the panel but sitting close, started finding fault with me in a very public way, much to my annoyance, beginning with a complaint about my cigar. The panel discussion had not yet begun, and she complained that I had taken off my nice brown cashmere jacket (which I do not possess) and rolled up the sleeves of my pink shirt less tidily than she would have wanted. Meanwhile, talk of my cigar persisted until I tried quelling the talk with a loud "Enough about me!"--to which no-one paid the slightest attention. Then Ellie piped up with the observation that she was surprised by my use of the word "cigar", knowing me for a plain-spoken man who eschews circumlocution and everyone knew that "cigar" actually meant "penis." At which I recall exclaiming that this was too embarrassing, and I promptly woke.
On waking, I stumbled blearily to the bathroom for an early morning pit stop and, feeling somewhat dry in the mouth--thanks, no doubt, to the martini, the wine and the Grand Marnier--fumbled under the sink for my white plastic bottle of Biotene mouthwash. I had taken a big swallow from the bottle and was about to gargle when I realized something was seriously amiss. I checked the bottle in the dim light and realized that instead of the mouthwash I had picked out a similar container of Eucerin moisturizing cream. So much for early morning bleariness...
Which reminds me that we had a terrible night a couple of days ago with George the dog wakeful, watchful and restless for the entire night. I had just been reading in the New York Times about the China earthquake and the strange behavior of the pandas shortly before the quake hit, so I had earthquakes on the mind and of course we are long overdue, here in Southern California, for another "event"... So I was convinced that George's weird behavior heralded some imminent disaster and lay awake for hours making plans for our escape and eventual survival. In the morning, though, on awakening, I noticed that the covered plastic cup where we keep George's late night snack had remained unopened: the poor dog had been deprived of his habitual bedtime treat. He could hardly have made his point more eloquently if he'd had the power of speech.
This morning, I woke again at ten past six and slipped out to the garden for a lengthy sit. A truly lovely meditation, accompanied by the songs of countless birds.
Forgive all this personal stuff for a Sunday entry. You didn't have to read it. If you did, my thanks for your tolerance. And blessings all around...
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1 comment:
That dream was weird. I don’t possess the Joseph-gift of interpreting dreams, but I wonder if your preconscious mind might not have picked up something from the women about the “indulging (myself and Brian)” and the “cigar (myself and Brian).”
I’m sorry George missed his bedtime treat. Had it been Alex, I would have experienced cat claws somewhere in my body. They are right about animals and earthquakes. I have been through two very small ones when I lived in an Ohio River town in Indiana (the New Madrid fault). Prior to each, my dog, Muffin, acted as if she wanted me to pick her up and hold her, which is something she seldom requested.
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