dreams: February 22, 1998

an Ashland summer dinner

I'm sitting out on the backporch of John's house. The weather is nice and warm. I'm eating dinner at a round set table with a group of people: family and family friends. Someone has asked me about John's occupation, so I'm describing what he does. "He's a woodworker. He makes all sorts of beautifully crafted pieces: cabinets, counters, tables, shelves, etc. He has a shop in back where he makes it," I explain. Then someone asks how I chose to go to Swarthmore College. I start explaining it to them, launching into my standard response (my desire to go to the East coast, the high standards and reputation of the small liberal arts college, etc.); but then I can't remember why I really chose to go there. I'm at a loss for words.
I am enjoying the meal, appreciating the typical Ashland summer food we are eating. I want some more salad, so I serve myself some from its container, a clear glass vase (like the water pitchers of Geppetto's Restaurant). It is lettuce and fresh, ripe, red tomatoes in a vinagrette. I realize that I've taken almost all the rest, making me wonder if anyone else will want any more.

- FIN -

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