...
86 and I always had bottles of Jepson around. We spent holidays naked... so he could paint his masterpiece nude if it struck him... and lick brandy drips.... He never painted his masterpiece nude, but he did just about everything else to and with her. I don't know exactly what put me in mind of our brandy just now, but it reminds me of not speaking up about the dream yesterday.
I couldn't decide if it was a teaching dream or just a jumbled memory contents dream. I'm thinking it was a smattering of both, and maybe if I set it out it will help me get hidden bits out of it, albeit a day too late.
It was a big conference, and my prehistorically-ex brother-in-law, an Italian dairyman's eldest son with too much testosterone and not enough talent, was the host. He had some kind of meltdown and walked off in the middle of the thing. As I was coming to the mic to announce that he wasn't coming back, Katie Holmes, an actress now most famous for divorcing Tom Cruise, grabbed it very assertively.
I wasn't having it. Without touching her, I bumped her, with my psychic punch, off the stage and out into the back seats of the audience. So I was up there, trying to pick up where we left off with the slide show, the power point presentation that had been in progress when the untalented hothead stormed off.
It was just like trying to deal with the hundreds of channels and the ever-increasingly abstruse remotes that come with the jumbotrons popularly known as TVs in the motel room the other night. So I just kept hitting the button that looked friendliest, giving the audience a great channel surfing experience as I went.
I was pretty happily engaged in this, flat on my stomach in front of the thing, when it struck me this was not what the conference-goers were there for and I popped up to apologize. "I guess I don't know how to do this, after all." The crowd went wild. Katie popped up out of her seat like a cartoon character in grinning approval, clapping wildly. I was a hit.
WTF?
So. You might expect I'm torn between the myriad interpretations trying to crash into me over this. A shot of my sister's ego-addled first husband, conference, a scarily-assertive celebrity who switches to cheering section and my immortal enmity with the boob tube. I don't think I'm leaving anything out. I think this was the whole thing.
I might cover up and go for a tromp in the fog-sopped forest today. Maybe that will help me parse it... or just leave it simmer....
I love this fog! It persists. Today everything is soaking wet from it... or it rained again last night when I was asleep. The only bad parts of it are that this must mean it is hotter'n Death Valley inland and, of course, it's so immortally weird that the coast here seems to be going back to the kind of summer it had been famous for all through recorded history. It hasn't been this uniformly foggy on the California coast in decades. So this, like my dream, is either wonderful normal or a sign of the end times.
always and any time....
