Sweetest Dreams

After our Wednesday evening Eucharist with the EfM group last night, Linda and I went to Holy Nativity Episcopal School for the Italian Feast, put on by school parents -- penne pasta with grilled chicken and bella rosa sauce, salad, garlic butter dinner rolls, mini cream puffs and assorted cookies. We had the Vidalia onion salad dressing on ours. Because daughter Malinda was home from work and PJed up, we brought ours takeaway.

Oh, man, was it delicious, was it ever scrumptious. And the servings were sinful, but sin is my favorite thing to do, so no worries. Normally I would have eaten a third that size serving, but it was so good, and I had just been for my semiannual cardiology appointment and recorded a loss of four pounds, and was still in celebration mode (after seeing the cardiologist plus getting the annual echocardiogram, we went to IHOP for brunch), so not only ate the whole dinner; but added a large glass of dry red wine -- which I sometimes have with lunch but never at supper because Linda says it makes me snore. Which it does not, though it does encourage active dreams.

With the wine and the triple supper, my dream was active and serial ongoing in spite of several waking ups. It was in the same category of intensity with my two occasional anxiety dreams, which have been addressed here before --

at the University of Florida campus in Gainesville, term was over and it was time to clear out my dorm room, which had years of accumulated clothes, furniture and junk, worse, far, far worse than our walk-in attic.

It all had to be loaded in my one little orange Pontiac coupe that I'd bought from Peg Everhard in Pennsylvania,

and it had to be done today, now. My roommate Norm, a Navy buddy, had packed all his stuff in one suitcase and left for home already. There was no way all my stuff would go in my car, but it had to be done. After walking across campus to the parking lot to get the car, I realized that I had no idea where the car keys were, they could be lost entirely or they could be in the pockets of any one of the hundreds of pairs of pants, some hanging in the closets back in my dorm room, some wadded up and thrown in various corners. I decided to deal with the key problem later, and just to get started first carrying the furniture items across campus one by one, and loading them in the car. After some trips of that, I realized that there was even more furniture still to be carried and loaded than when I had started, so I better stop and look for the keys after all. It was hopeless, but I started searching, searching. As the dorm room started growing larger and larger and packed with more and more stuff, Linda came in and said that her car was packed and ready to go and she was leaving for Panama City, and reminded me that we keep the car keys on the key tray by the television set in the family room.

Nobody wants to listen to or read about somebody else’s dream. But this is my blog, isn’t it. No more wine-soaked overeating until after the next cardiology appointment next April.