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 -