Florida, boat launching, and industrial soup production. Together at last.

I'm in Florida. I've been instructed to take this boat to the lake and launch it. It's tied to the back of the car by a really, really long ribbon. I've never trailered anything before, but a boat on 100 feet of ribbon sees like a bad idea. I start driving, make my first turn and watch in the rear-view mirror as the boat eventually follows. I decided to stop and shorten the ribbon, which can only be accomplished underwater, of course. I hold my breath, dive under the water (which has conveniently appeared) and bring the boat closer to the car. I start again. And decide the boat is still not close enough. Repeat underwater ribbon-shortening process.

I'm finally on the road to the lake. I'm not sure of the directions, but I figure, drive west until you hit the water (Gulf of Mexico), make a left. On the way, I encounter a new public works project. They are building a massive bridge, thousands of feet in the air, and made of orange steel beams. The exit ramp is a sudden, steep spiral, like a roller coaster. I'm worried about my boat behind me, but we make it off the highway.

Soon I'm driving next to a crystal clear lake. It's long and narrow and the road runs the entire length of it. I wonder if this is the lake I'm looking for. I assume it is and turn around to go back to the boat launch. I've never launched a boat before and there are cars in the way. Some guys quickly move their cars and assure me they'll help guide the boat in the water. I start to back down the ramp, but I'm going to fast, hit the brakes, and the boat plunges off the trailer and into the water. In the process, the boat was pushed underwater and is now sinking to the bottom of the lake, a few feet down the ramp. No worries. It's a small plastic boat. So, I grab it, pull it out of the water, flip it over and let the water drain out of it. Turns out the seal where the bottom half and top half of the boat meet is not water-tight, so some water has actually gotten inside the boat. I have to wait for that to drain out, too. I try again. I finally successfully launch the boat.

The next day I have to do it again. This time I know my way, I think. I recognize the giant orange bridge under construction. In front of me are three exits, each one a sudden spiral like last time. I pick a different exit and end up outside of my car, but inside a glass enclosed room. It's not just an exit ramp, you see. They're mixing soup. I look down, through the glass floor and see huge paddles mixing soup as water is pumped in. Somehow they use the energy of the cars on the exit ramp to power the mixer. The mixing is done and the whole exit-ramp-spiral-soup-mixer drops to the highway below and starts driving to the plant. It's time to unload the soup for canning.

The end.

I could totally be a spy.

We’re at war. I’m on the castle roof with other people huddled down to keep from being seen by the enemy at the gate. Two rockets (they were like bottle rockets, though) fly overhead and we’re showered in sparks. I hold a (very flammable) newspaper over my head to keep the sparks off me. I crawl to the wall and peer over to see a guy throwing rocks at the door. And then I realize they’re grenades.

Chaos. The enemy is in and ushering children into the castle. I’m carrying a little girl up the stairs who has broken her leg. I look down at her and tell her to try to sleep. She nods at me.

The enemy captures me and tells that now I’m going to be a spy and provide them with inside information. I’m pushed into the elevator and taken down to the castle cafeteria. I see Gina and give her my rings and tell her that they’re making me be a spy. I’m led away and I think to myself, “I’ll have to give them some real information so they trust me and then I’ll feed them false information.”

I wake up. I totally have this spy thing down.

Horses and boats. Good apart, good together.

This is short because I don't remember it all.

I was watching a movie about a queen who divorced her king and now she was going to war. So, the queen had her stable of giant horses fitted with wooden ark-like ships on their backs. The arks could carry 15-20 people at a time. Efficient transportation for the Dark Ages. I'm watching the queen standing at the bow of the ship, sword drawn, yelling like Braveheart while the giant horse below her gallops into battle. And really, I'm only concerned about the horse. I think to myself, "that must be really heavy, but he is able to run at full speed, so I guess it can't be that bad." Later I get to see the giant horses. They are grazing in a perfectly manicured pasture. "They're like the size of Clydesdales, but that doesn't make any sense. The horses with the the boats were enormous. These horses aren't big enough," I say and continue to pet the horses.

I know there was a lot more to this one, but the alarm woke me up and NPR erased my memory. I love that, even in my dreams, I acknowledge that it doesn't make any fucking sense.

I guess I miss the VW's.

Three dreams.

I'm in the California house. Jeff and I are dropping the engine in the bug. He decides it needs degreasing, so the most efficient method, obviously, is to put it in the dishwasher. We're standing in the kitchen discussing the pros and cons of washing the engine in the dishwasher (I do not think this is a good plan, btw) when Michelle storms in. She's been shopping all day and the every piece of furniture is covered in shopping bags. She's ranting about something and I'm just trying to stay out of it. I reach down to move some bags and notice that at some point she bought goldfish today. I pull out the plastic bag to reveal two HUGE goldfish. "When were you going to emancipate these guys?" I ask. She just glares at me, snatches the bag out of my hand, and heads to the bedroom. "You can't put goldfish in with the tropical fish!" I scream after her. I reach the bedroom only to have her toss the empty bag at me. She put the goldfish in the fish tank with the tropical fish. So, I scoop them out and put them in my mouth (for safe keeping?) until I can walk three steps to the other fish tank and spit them out into the water. Fin.

In the second dream, I'm in the high school play, but as part of the crew. My job is to climb up 15ft onto this little platform covered in a velvet cushion and raise a t-shirt like a flag on a rope. Once I have successfully raised the t-shirt, I sit there and watch the play taking place below me. I repeatedly slip off this cushion and have to feel for the ladder rungs with my toes. But the last time, I can't find the ladder. I start to fall but grab the rope and wrap it around my wrist. I sail gracefully to the stage. Afterwards, the cast is gathering for a photo and I notice that Laurel Genetti is not in this play. The End.

Third dream. I'm driving the squareback. I need gas so I pull in behind another car and wait patiently for my turn at the pump. An over-eager gas station attendant offers to fill my tank, but before I realize it, he's filled it with diesel. "You're going to have to syphon that out now, you know." And I turn to go sit on the steps in my parents' garage to text Jeff about the diesel disaster. Done.

Pigs aren't meant for TV. Or flip-flops.

I was at the grocery store with Monika. We were in the produce section. I found a little piglet running around, so I scooped him up and put him in my canvas bag. He snuggled down amongst the groceries already in there and went to sleep. He was ridiculously cute. Obviously, now I need to shop for my pig. But Fugi apples are $29.99/lb! That’s crazy! But my pig needs apples.

I catch up to Monika in the bakery. She’s unwrapping a baguette covered in salt. “I was going to make those appetizers with the filet mignon and arugula on garlic toast.” “Oooh, those are yummy. Can I have some of your baguette for my pig?” “Sure!” So, I tear off a good third of her baguette and pop it in the bag on top of my sleeping pig.

As, I’m leaving the store I run into this woman that I obviously know in the cart vestibule. I show her my new pig and we discuss the outrageous price of Fugi apples. As I’m talking to her, I see my sister Anita leaving the store. I run over to her. “Hey! Are you staying with Monika?” “No, I’m on my way home.” She did not have time for me OR my pig.

Monika finally finishes grocery shopping and we climb into this huge vehicle with a big bench seat in the front. Tara and Olivia (Monika’s sister-in-law and niece) are already in the front seat. I tell them about my pig as I get him out of the bag. He settles down in the foot well and goes back to sleep.

We get home, which is actually my friend Elizabeth’s house. We all climb out and I pick up my pig. Elizabeth arrives shortly after with a friend of hers. I meet them in the driveway because I’ve had to go retrieve the groceries I left in the car. They’ve brought dinner. I’m in the kitchen attempting to reheat a sweet potato tart and arranging fruit kabobs and Monika’s appetizers on plates. My pig is temporarily forgotten.

Time moves forward and my pig is now 5 or 6 years old. They’ve put him in a TV show. I’m watching the filming and wondering why my pig looks like a kid, “why does he have hair? He’s a pig!” He has Blagojevich hair. I realize that he’s half pig-half kid. Like a pig-faun. This is not what I wanted for my pig. And he can speak. The TV show is set at school. He’s at the cafeteria table with his friends. “It’s flip-flop season! I can’t wear flip-flops!” Insert laugh-track here. He can’t wear flip-flops because he has cloven feet, you see. Tragic.

I hate getting snow in the car.

Here's a recent one.

It's dark, snowy, winter night. I'm heading to a party. I know that Jeff will be there, so I'm all anxious. I pull into a parking space and get out of the car. The party is lame and I wander around for a while. I get a text message from Vince. He's sending me pictures of bottles of wine. I've decided to leave the party and am walking down the stairs, flipping through all these pictures that he keeps sending me. I get to my car and realize that I left the door open when I parked. Everything is covered in ice. My car is now filled with snow. Vince sends me another text with a picture. Irritated, I ask, "Why are you sending me pictures of wine?" "They're gifts!" "That's great. I have to get all the snow out of my car now. I'll talk to you later." I'm not sure how to get all the snow out of my car.

My working knowledge of today's salt pricing is limited.

I’ve been taken in by family who owns salt mines.* It was understood that I’d be working for the family business as part of this new arrangement. So, I spent some time moving salt from a pile in the garage to the floor of a blue Suburban. Not just in the cargo area, but under the seats and under the pedals. The salt had a blue-ish hue. I knew the buyer was coming to look at the salt, so I went inside to tell the old man that I was finished.

Carlisle was the old patriarch of the family and the business. I went into his bedroom where he was lying in bed, propped up on his side. He told me I’d have to leave with the buyer overnight to negotiate the price. I was indignant. “What? I just got here three days ago. Why do I have to go? What do I know about salt? I thought the buyer would come, pay for the salt, and leave.” Carlisle replied, “you could have done that if you had negotiated that earlier.” I refused to go. I was yelling now. “I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT SALT! Let alone negotiating salt contracts! No. NO.”

I ran out of the house to my boyfriend’s house next door. It must have been Florida. It was hot and sticky and lush and green outdoors. My boyfriend also worked for Carlisle’s salt mining business. I got in the passenger side of the Suburban and we started driving down the road. The floor was covered in five or six inches of salt. I reached over the console to hold his hand. He was Native American or Spanish. Maybe Cuban. He wouldn’t look at me. I told him about yelling at Carlisle and having to negotiate salt contracts. “You yelled at Carlisle?” He seemed appalled that I would do such a thing. He was mumbling at the window. I turned down the radio to hear him better and he immediately turned it back up. I never saw his face. He was irritated that now he was going to have drive the salt to the buyer.

We continued driving. High stone walls lined either side of the dusty road. The walls seemed to restrain the dense, rich forest from spilling over. We slowed as we approached a huge forest fire. Billowing flames mushroomed high into the air behind the wall. Obviously the authorities knew about it, but they must be attacking it from the other side. There were no fire trucks on this side. We kept driving and came to another fire. I know that no one knows about this one, though. I wake up.

* I recently watched a documentary on salt.

Sweet, groomed relief.

I’m at a wedding or some formal reception. Round tables and chintz. My 8-year-old nephew is twitchy and agitated because he has an eyebrow hair that needs to be plucked. He grabs some scissors and starts snipping wildly at his head and face, trying to get the hair. Afraid he’ll poke his eye out, I take the scissors from him and tell him I’ll get it. I have to hold him down on the floor. He’s now morphed into a very sweaty, writhing baby. I finally pluck the hair and release him. Sweet, groomed relief.