Monday, July 07, 2003


This morning, as I began to open my car door and get on to work, I saw the remains of a terrible ordeal. The first thing I noticed was bird poop all over the driver's seat. I had left the window open a little and a bird must have gotten in. I opened the door and found it's carcass on the floormat. I looked around in the car and decided it must have really been terrified because there were splatters and droppings all over, front and back. Then I found its friend, dead on the floor in the back. It was a hot day yesterday. They were probably baked in an hour or so. My wife told me I should keep the window up from now on. Thank you dear. I never would have thought of that.

This reminds me of something that's been going on lately. I haven't done the proper research to back this up, but I'm sure I've seen at least five news stories this summer about people leaving their kids in the car. In the most severe cases, the children have died. But even in the least serious ones, they were sweaty and exhausted. How does this happen? My wife and I don't leave the kids in the car even when we're going to the gas station to pay for the fuel, which should only take a couple of minutes. It's more of a hassle, but we undo their car seat restraints and herd all three of them into the store. Even if the heat didn't get them something else could happen. I saw two stories last year in which cars were stolen with a baby inside. If children are so inconvenient, why do people keep having them? We knew going in that our children would be a responsibility and a sacrifice, but that's a price we're willing to pay.


This is as good a place as any to record these things, and since I don't remember them very often, it's a good idea to write them down.

This one started with me in Alaska, or some other northerly location. I had to get back to what I assume was Salt Lake, though that wasn't explicit. In my dreams, most of the details are implied, or at least strongly suggested. The mode of transportation was a long cable with a pole and a seat attached, much like a pommel lift, I now realize. There was some discussion (again implied) with the operator of this contraption that the cable was extremely long and extended across the continent. I have a vague image of an explanatory analogy: a cable reaching to the moon.
Well, I began my journey poorly dressed and shivered as I was pulled, at a dizzying height, across the wild Alaskan countryside. This was all rather truncated, but I'm now imagining wolves below me, waiting for me to fall off. This part of the dream was positive, however. There was an exciting, adventurous feeling about it. Suddenly I was in a house. The cable passed through it via tiny, improbable holes in the walls. The cable stopped, presumably so I could take a break and get something to eat. I had some connection with the occupants of this home--I think I went to school with one of them. They were very hospitable and I ate, but there was some tension in this part and the rest of the dream. I knew the cable would be off again and I didn't want to miss it, that was part of it. But I think the biggest cause of uneasiness for me was the question of how the cable and seat passed through those tiny pinholes. The rest I remember only vaguely. I was struggling with something very tedious having to do with the lift. Also, at one point, I knew I was dreaming, to the point of thinking I was awake. But when my alarm went off and I found myself buried under my covers (not having thrown them off like I thought) I knew I'd been asleep.

There it is.

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