Boring to the Extreme

Today, on this fine grey middle American morning, I awoke up at 7:10.  Although I am just guessing, I think I probably went to sleep somewhere between midnight and 1230.  Yeah, I climbed into bed and started to read a really trashy action book on my iPad.  A point arrived where the screen had hit my face three times and I realized I had read the same page four times.  At such a moment it is time to set down the book and drift off.

 

Earlier last evening we had gotten together with our neighbors. We spent at least an hour sitting around their fire pit.  Good conversation was had, treats were exchanged in the form of delightful Christmas baked goods and wine was consumed.  Of course, it was Portuguese wine.  I probably consumed about 6 ounces of red.  Tell you right now I was living wild and large consuming that much vhino. I can also tell you that wine consumption spurs on the cranky old JTT dream machine.

 

When the iPad thumped down on the floor beside the bed, the dream machine kicked in. The dream I dreamed just before I opened my eyes this morning was one of cooking.  I think as I try to pull the strands of the dream together that I was making some large piece of red meat and it needed a special rub.  I was searching for the ingredients when my eyelids fluttered and this day inserted itself into the story of my life.  My wife suggests the food dream arose because I still smelled of smoke from the fire pit.  Might be some truth in that analysis.

 

I also remember dreaming a work dream. In the dream I was just gazing out my office window, that’s it.  For about 20 out of the last 40 nights, I’ve dreamed about my job at Farhat, Tyler and Associates. Note well I have not been employed there for several decades.  Most of those dreams are about mundane thing, doing timesheets for billable hours, doing research on the law regarding dogs.  (Yes, there is all kind of dog law out there). My guess is these dreams are coming up because for the close to 14 years I worked there we had some great Christmas parties.  Somewhere there is a tape of me singing the singularly worst karaoke version of Roger Miller’s “King of the Road.” Single malt scotch and my reaction to medications probably played a part in the creation of that abomination.

 

Well look at that, it is 930 and I’m finally getting around to my breakfast. First thing after I got up, I started a load of a laundry and I made coffee for everybody. Now that load is in the dryer and the second load is going. Motivated by my cooking dream I made John Lee and Francie French toast this morning. Couldn’t find the nutmeg so I threw in a little bit of almond extract to give it a different flavor. Nobody complained.  After they had eaten, I emptied out the dishwasher and reloaded it with the breakfast dishes.  Me,  I’m having oatmeal. Given all the treats and holiday sugared up foods I have to draw a line somewhere or I am going to bloat up and develop my own gravitational pull. 

 

Up next  is checking my to do list. Ah I see here’s a wee bit of shopping to be done. Plus, I’ve got a sort out that Christmas letter. Right now, on the top of the missive I have a place holder photo off our front balcony in Lisbon.  Francie took far more photos than I did this time and most of them are well composed and beautiful.  I will write up some text and I will let her fiddle with the design.  Did I mention it’s a gray and cloudy day here? Just of one of 250 we get each year. Oh yeah, for some unexplained reason I’ve been humming. “I Wonder Where the Lions Are” all morning.