It happened again---Another flying dream. Well, sort of.......More like a Sliding/Swimming/Hanging On dream.

So, I'm in my ratty nightgown; the one I decided to cut up into rags yesterday. (I always appear in something awful. I'm usually trying to hold onto a towel or some other tat that just barely covers me.) Ane I'm barefoot. (Why IS that? Does it mean, "Now pay attention: You're standing on Holy Ground. This is a Message!)

I'm with "Himself" who is saying, "We Have to go to this meeting in a theater. It's okay", he says, "Don't worry, it'll be casual".

It's afternoon. I'm carrying a really long spear-like thing with an ornately pointy end on it. It flexes like a pole-vaulter's pole. I have no idea what I think I'm going to do with it--maybe keep everyone at bay, I don't know........"Himself" is walking straight from the house to this place and I'm dawdling along a high bank. Obviously, I don'twannago.


We get there and it's a freakin' opera house. Absolutely lush inside. Everybody's dressed up! I'm coerced to sit down in a seat on the the aisle, in the middle of the place, of course. I try to become invisible by slouching down, pulling the neck up on the awful nightgown. Then my Schnauzer-child, Barker, trots in and lays down in the middle of the aisle. He's capturing everyone's attention and so am I. Somehow, I manage to slink out.



The next thing I know, I'm back on the cliff enjoying the sunshine. I've lost the pole. (Is there a message here?) Suddenly I pitch forward face first into a pathway made of very tan, very slick clay. I begin to slide, slide, slide at increasing velocity just on the edge of a grassy cliff. Doesn't matter if the path goes down or up, I seem to be pulled along. It's fast and scary, but Boy, I'm having Fun.

I'm passing vegetation and things and people who are waving and smiling. I see that the slick path ends ahead of me above an area full of boats and piers. I shoot off the cliff and land in the water, but Hey, no problem, I'm able to make swimming movements and just skim along on the surface. Its like swimming on one of those moving walkways in the airport--I'm moving normally; everything else is just whizzing by.

Suddenly I landland smack on a shore (on my feet, mind you). It's a riverbank somewhere in the deep south. There's a big square house with verandas all around. The air is sweet, warm and balmy. The Spanish moss is swaying in the breeze. I walk into the yard and the family who lives in the house seems to know me. I'm invited inside. They all talk in a soft southern drawl.

I go into the living room and see that the wall between it and the kitchen is open slats with books stacked sideways up against the wall so high that it is bowing inward toward the living room. (Do I need to take some books to the used bookstore again?)



I look up and see above the room that a large screened-in porch on the second floor with antique silver, ornate pressed-metal tile lining the floor, walls and ceiling. The glare is awful. They are very proud of it. It's horrible. They tell me it's where they spend most of their time. I suggest they might install one of those glass folding-door walls so they could enjoy it even when it's raining. (What am I doing giving advice to these people?!)

They ask me why I've come, (Probably because of the advice) and I say I'm waiting for the big, orange trucks. (Where did that come from?--I detest and avoid orange having had to live with an orange kitchen for two years. Two Years!) They say one is due by any minute, so I go out into the yard and stand by the road to wait for it.

Sure enough, here one comes rolling up the road. It's equipped with hand-grips at the top in the back and I miraculously leap up and hook my hands into the slots as it goes by. We fly away down a narrow, tree-lined dusty road through the swamps and by huge stretches of water and I'm just loving it. Whooping it up just like a cowboy. Yee-HA! Just flying in the breeze like some kinda' flag.

When I wake up, I'm feeling exhilarated, just as I am after a regular, self-propelled flying dream.

Well, guess I'll just wait here for the big clay slide to take me to that big 'ole orange truuuk ride.

(Should never have eaten mushrooms and watched "My Name is Earl".)

Uh, did I remember to put the trash out last night?