I dreamt the following last night and wrote it down at around 6:15 this morning. Anybody want to take a shot at explaining it?
I should note that I haven’t edited this – it was written on my phone immediately after I woke up. Grammar, spelling, etc……..I couldn’t help it.
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I was nearing the end of my vacation and had arrived at my parents’ house – on a lake – somewhere is the SC low-country. At least I think it was my parents’ house.
There were about 100 smallish children there, like it was some sort of summer camp. They all loaded into large open boats, like the Maids of the Mist, to play on the water at some point; and when they returned, it was apparent that a few of them had managed to ski behind the boats.
My father decided that he was going to ski, which he did behind a huge cigar boat. Briefly. It made one circle, Dad hit the wake and promptly wiped out in spectacular fashion, going under and reemerging some 20 yards later.
Mom and Greg joked that if he hadn’t surfaced, they would have had to go to the bottom of Niagara Falls, which were where the lake emptied, to find him. I should point out that this was not a name for local falls – THE Niagara Falls were where the lake emptied. And it was apparently quite common for people to have to go to the bottom of them to collect family members who had drowned while skiing.
I wanted to ski, but realized that I wasn’t going to get a chance, so instead made plans to ride my old bike, which I had given to Dad, home to Greenville.
I was going to do this while Dad, Mom, Greg and a fourth person took my car (the blue PT Cruiser) and went out to dinner.
Greg sat in the rear driver-side seat and the external handle on his door was broken.
They left, and I went to get the bike, which I discovered to have flat tires. Only the tires were the size of shopping cart wheels and weren’t there at all. I determined that I’d have to buy new ones and set off to do so.
Intermittently during this dream, I’d get calls on my cell phone from Matt Jones, who, at first, was apparently more interested in the cryptic messages he was getting from Greg (or possibly Doug Sprague) than in talking to me.
Without fail, I would lose my connection with Matt, so I decided to change the battery (a 9-volt) in my phone.
In subsequent calls from Matt, we talked about the Falcons losing to Green Bay and the inability of the city of Atlanta to handle snow.
On his final call to me, which I received while Dad was skiing, he informed me in confidence that his new CD would be out on the following Friday (which was the next day).
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