A Bulletin
12:30 p.m.
I napped both Friday and Saturday afternoons, and both times had bizarre dreams. The first time Hubby was practising guitar, running through the jazz pieces for that evening, working in his strings which were both new and freshly retuned after having been loosened for air transport, while I dozed fitfully. Earlier that week I had barbecued a whole Pacific salmon, and there was quite a bit left over. So I removed the flesh from the bones, breaking it up with my fingers into a casserole, and added other ingredients to make something tasty and nutritious. In my dream I was doing something very similar, except that the meat I was shredding with my fingers was human flesh, and I had this horrible feeling that I had committed a terrible crime and was trying to do away with the evidence by making it into a casserole, but I couldn�t remember what I had done.
In the dream the next afternoon, I was upset because the lid for a glass bowl we had received as a wedding present was damaged, the knob had been broken off. What�s bizarre is that this bowl got broken years and years ago, when Buddy Boy was a tiny thing, throwing a feather-light beachball in the living room and causing one thing to fall on another in a domino reaction that ended up with this beautiful bowl and its lid, full of potpourri smashing onto the floor. There is still a gouge in the wood where it fell. In my dream, I reached my hand into the bag where the lid was, and pulled it out, shards of broken glass clinging to my skin. I distinctly remember it stinging as I pulled the pieces out.
The soprano who sang the BerIi0z Nuits d�Et� and EIgar�s For the FaIIen on the programme was absolutely amazing. Totally.
At the airport check-in counter coming home, Hubby made a fuss about his guitar, so he got a special deal where he walked it through the security gate and a guy came and got it and hand carried it to the luggage bay, and then he picked it up again as we deplaned in the same area where you see wheelchairs and baby strollers waiting for passengers. As we were standing in line, waiting forever as crates of broccoli and celery and other vegetable matter were loaded ahead of us, he worried for a moment that he should have left his guitar case unlocked for inspection purposes. I told him not to sweat it, after all, it was going to go below with the rest of the luggage, it�s not like it was going to be baggin cabbage.
That same Hubby is freaking out because he�s playing a huge programme on Friday on classical guitar with a harpsichordist, and he�s developed a crack in his i nail, which is his index finger on the right hand for you non-guitarists out there. He�s practising changing his technique, and he�s also ordered a special nail kit from some place in California which is supposed to be coming by UPS today. So I�m kind of stuck here, which means I may miss choir, until that arrives.
As well, we have yet another overnight guest arriving, a composer friend who was a colleague of Hubby�s at Michigan and a piece of whose is on the programme. This entailed going out in search of a mattress and box spring to replace the one that gave way on our last guests. My first stop was a well-known department store where I could have bought what I wanted for a mere $400, except that they couldn�t have it to us before next week. So I went to a different, more upscale furniture store down the road, and got a superior product half-price which will be delivered the day after tomorrow. Unfortunately, even on sale, it was twice what I would have paid at the first store. This is what comes of procrastinating.
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