Although I've been suffering from mid-summer doldrums (I hate hot weather), the depression caused by touring nursing homes (I plan to move my mother soon), and a passive-aggressive, quiet Ian*, I had a remarkably pleasant dream last night.
Initially, I was looking at a smallish rural office building in California with my first husband David*. We're considering it so we can pursue our different careers under the same roof. It had some nice wood floors but a strangely small walkway to a basement. I went to the back yard which was edged by tall trees, and saw two peacocks fly away.
Later, David disappears. Now I'm driving around a small California town with Cathie, my friend from college who now lives in Anaheim, who I still see now and then. We're in an elderly convertible and we have the top down. I spot the opera baritone Thomas Hampson sitting on a park bench. I ask Cathie to let me out as I want to say hello to him, and we end up getting on quite well. We (Cathie, Thomas and a couple of her friends) all go to a restaurant and have soup, and eventually I end up having sex with Thomas in an indoor swimming pool.
Later on though, the weather goes to hell and I suspect that tornadoes are in the works. We (Cathie, Thomas, and the same couple of Cathie's soup-sharing friends) end up in the same smallish office I'd earlier viewed with David although he's vanished from the dream. After a couple of minutes I spot a funnel cloud from the window. We all head for the basement but we can barely all fit on the stairs. But the building isn't hit and we all survive.
* See The Usual Suspects.
