All in one night
Just snippets of what I can remember, although the dreams themselves were very involved and detailed. In the first dream, I’m the second member of a two-person team, the other being an older man who served in Vietnam. We’re either the bad guys, or the good guys doing bad because it has to be done. Anyway, we’re being chased, and we acquire a super suped-up jet, the likes of which can’t be owned unless you belong to a special club that charges a 1.3 million dollar membership fee each year (told you it was detailed). AND in order to join this club, which is owned by a high-scale automobile company, each member has to purchase and/or own one of EACH model that the car company sells. Then they get the use of this jet, which is worth 10 million dollars.
So we take off in this jet, me behind the other guy, and we’re being chased by another jet. I can see on the display that the other jet is gaining fast, so we kick it into high gear and pull quickly away from them at the last second. Then we’re higher than the jet can handle, and we slowly reach the apex and rooooll over so that we’re headed back down again. We land, and jump into some sort of vehicle that has a surface-to-air missile weapon attached. The “bad guys” are coming toward us in some sort of Hummer-but-bigger, and I fire a missile at them and blow them up.
The dream changes COMPLETELY, and I’m dressed in Victorian-era clothing, corset and all. It’s my wedding day, and I’m getting married to a sophisticated older gentleman that I admire and respect, but more in a daughter-to-father sort of way. I’m walking along the grounds, with tall weeping willows and stone courtyards, bark paths with benches placed along it, vast green lawns, and an immense mansion with a yellow facade and 116 rooms. I know where that comes from, at least – last night I was watching a show on the History Channel about Vienna and it’s architecture.
I approach the older gentleman, who is standing in a circular stone courtyard, surrounded by wedding guests all dressed in Victorian finery. He holds his gloved hand out to me, I take it, and we begin walzing to the music of an unseen band. We’re both apparently very good dancers – he spins and twirls me, I always know where to find his hand again, and we move smoothly and elegantly. The wedding attendees applaud. I sing a song in French that I’ve learned. A matronly woman asks me if I know what it means, and I say no, I just learned it phonetically. The gentleman tells her that my tutor is impressed with the way I’ve learned the accent so well. Strangely enough, the local morning news anchor chickie attended the wedding.
The dream changes again, and the gentleman husband and I are standing in a warehouse or barn, stocked with wagons full of contraband material – food, alcohol, fabric, spices, etc. We, and the wagons, are surrounded by a crowd of men, who are interested in the items. My husband tells them that he had to pay higher than he expected for the items – $50 a barrel. The men express their displeasure, and mutter. They say they’re going to refuse to participate in the auction that the gentleman is putting on, but then the gentleman starts calling out the items in an auctioneer cadence, and the men start bidding as if they can’t help themselves. I put my hand on the gentleman’s arm, and beg with wide eyes upturned to him to be fair to the men.
Again with the dream shift, and this time I’m dating a young man, and he and I are sneaking around in an old library or monestary. At first I’m excited to be with him, and we amuse ourselves by finding the candy that the priests or monks have hidden in the stacks, cheating on their vows. Then the young man wants me to fool around with him in the stacks, and all of a sudden I’m not intersted in him at all, even though it *feels* like I’ve invested a lot into the relationship. So I tell him it’s not going to work out.
THEN the dream changes AGAIN, and I back in my old room at Grandma’s house in Maine. I can see my bedroom perfectly clearly, arranged the way it used to be arranged during the winter. Grandma kind of shuffles around the house, incoherent as she was during her last years, not able to communicate, and just moving from picture to picture on the wall and staring at them. I follow her, trying to get her to remember me (I think this comes from watching “50 First Dates” last night, and the scene where Adam Sandler asks Drew Barrymore if she knows who he is, or remembers him at all.) Then my Aunt Lee and Uncle Arnie arrive for a visit, and all of a sudden Grandma is the Grandma I rememberd from my childhood, singing in the kitchen while doing the dishes, teasing the cat and yelling at the dog, sitting around the table playing cards with my aunt and uncle. I go back into my bedroom, leave the door open to listen to them, lay on my bed and stare up at the ceiling.
