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Jun. 4th, 2023 10:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraDreamed I was with Marybeth. (Marybeth! ❤️) Did I happen to bump into her? Was it a pre-planned social visit? Dream wasn’t clear. We were happy to see each other, though, affectionate remonstrances on both sides, and we were talking about setting up a real date as I floated around her house after her—which wasn’t her actual house but some kind of open meadow with rooms (hard to explain in words.)
“So, what did you think of Ichabod?” I asked since they’d had dinner together—in real life, too!—a couple of months ago.
Marybeth stopped, looked concerned, shook her head. “Ichabod is—we’ll talk about it later.”
And I thought She didn’t like Ichabod? How can anybody not like Ichabod?
Then I was walking back toward someplace—in dream Berkeley—where Ben and a whole bunch of people—for whom I was responsible in that dream sense.
The someplace could only be reached by walking up an extremely steep hill.
My mother was part of that bunch, and I realized I had my mother’s cell phone as well as my own in my pocket, so I had absolutely no way of getting in touch with her to tell her I was running late.
I took out my mother’s phone.
It was bigger than my phone, more like a small purse, and I thought, Ha! This might be easier to use than my phone. (I have big, clumsy fingers, and it’s actually hard for me to text on most phones.)
I accidentally pressed some buttons on my mother’s phone—and immediately, music began pouring out of it.
The music was good! I was shocked (though my waking self is not: However insane my mother was—and she was plenty insane—my mother had excellent cultural tastes. And I seem to have inherited them! More or less intact.)
“So, what did you think of Ichabod?” I asked since they’d had dinner together—in real life, too!—a couple of months ago.
Marybeth stopped, looked concerned, shook her head. “Ichabod is—we’ll talk about it later.”
And I thought She didn’t like Ichabod? How can anybody not like Ichabod?
Then I was walking back toward someplace—in dream Berkeley—where Ben and a whole bunch of people—for whom I was responsible in that dream sense.
The someplace could only be reached by walking up an extremely steep hill.
My mother was part of that bunch, and I realized I had my mother’s cell phone as well as my own in my pocket, so I had absolutely no way of getting in touch with her to tell her I was running late.
I took out my mother’s phone.
It was bigger than my phone, more like a small purse, and I thought, Ha! This might be easier to use than my phone. (I have big, clumsy fingers, and it’s actually hard for me to text on most phones.)
I accidentally pressed some buttons on my mother’s phone—and immediately, music began pouring out of it.
The music was good! I was shocked (though my waking self is not: However insane my mother was—and she was plenty insane—my mother had excellent cultural tastes. And I seem to have inherited them! More or less intact.)
