Wilhelmsplatz Down

Posted on

It is dreadful to listen to other people’s dreams. The words “So I had this dream the other night” are invariably followed by a tedious, painstaking, blow-by-blow account of a truly uninteresting narrative. By the time the other person gets to “And then this curling iron appeared, and I dunno, I can’t explain it, but it was amazing!” I find myself plotting ways to surrepstitiously pull the fire alarm:

“Wow, that’s fascinating, now don’t mind me but I’m going to lean uncomfortably against this bit of wall here… oh, for no reason, really, just seems the thing to do, and please pay no mind to the way I’m awkwardly wiggling my shoulders up and down. Do continue telling me about your dream, you were just at the bit where you eating a muffin, I can’t wait to hear what happens next.”

So, the other night, I had this dream, right? This’d be two nights ago. I had moved to Alberta and I was enthralled by the gorgeous mountain scenery and lush forests.

(A quick wikipedia search informs me that Alberta really does have mountains. I had no idea. Guess my sleeping brain knows more trivia than I give it credit for.)

Then last night I went out West to hike along a mountain trail at the conjunction of four states: Montana, Colorado, something, and something.

Now geography is not my strong suit, but I’m quite confident that Montana and Colorado are nowhere near one another…. yep, I just looked it up, they’re separated by Wyoming, which is one of those very large, if essentially useless, states out west. So maybe my sleeping brain is not so bright after all. Or maybe it is—there was that time with the amazing play on words, which to this day stands as the single most impressive intellectual feat I have ever accomplished.

Fortunately my dream metaphors subscribe to the sledgehammer school of symbolism. There is absolutely no ambiguity here: I want to move to someplace beautiful. Dream interpretation, I tell ya, it’s a piece of cake. (Possibly it’s so easy to read my dreams because my subsconsciousness is dull and uncreative, but let’s not dwell on that.)

I am sure that some of you, especially those of you who tend toward self-righteousness, want me to learn to appreciate the natural beauty of my surroundings, no matter where I may be. If I could quit being grumpy for a change, take some time to revel in the wonder of all God’s creations, I would find beauty everywhere, and happiness too, most likely.

I’m pleased for you, really I am. It’s heartening to know that you’ve achieved spiritual enlightenment. I, however, am spiritually obtuse. Without majestic, breathtaking, ridiculously overstated geographical features such as mountains or gorges or buttes, I am too dense to notice natural beauty. Sorry.

(I have never seen buttes, but I assume they would do the trick.)

My preference for dramatic landscapes notwithstanding, I must confess that today was a pretty good day. The weather was absolutely perfect, just a bit on the cool side and the type of cloudless blue sky I associate with Wyoming, though whether this is a fair association is anybody’s guess, as we have seen that my knowledge of Wyoming is limited. (It’s between Colorado and Montana, though, I know that much.)

And though I woke up yet again to discover a complete absence of mountains nearby, I did enjoy some nature action, in the form of three, four, or five bunny rabbits. As the weather was absolutely perfect, and as I tend toward self-righteousness, I walked to work today. (The self-righteous part comes from my getting to be smug about not having driven a car.) On the way to work, I saw two bunnies, and then a bit later, I saw another.

On the walk back, in exactly the same spot where I’d seen two bunnies in the morning, I again saw two bunnies. Were these the same two bunnies from the morning? Were they two different bunnies? Was there one repeat bunny, and one new bunny? All bunnies look more or less the same to me, so I have no way of knowing. Presumably if I learned to revel in the wonder of all God’s creations I could learn to distinguish between bunnies but we’ve already dispensed with the likelihood of that happening anytime soon.

And now, because I assume that no one cares to hear about my work on a chapter that’s way past due, nor about an article that’s about to be past due, nor yet again about the mindnumbing process of preparing indexes for my book (we’re looking at an August release date), I shall wrap this up. The 3-5 bunny sightings were, collectively, the most interesting thing I’ve done this week.

But, y’know, if you do care to hear about the chapter or the article or the indexes, I’ll be happy to fill you in. Should be no worse than listening to someone talk about the dream she had the other night.

Advertisements

5 responses »

  1. Not fair. I thought the chapter had the status of "that about which we must not speak." Otherwise I would have asked how it was going and if you wanted to commit GBH on the editor, etc.Also, I thought about channeling my inner Beavis and Butthead and making something out of the comment "I have never seen buttes…" but decided that I’m too professional to stoop to that level of humor.

    Reply
  2. the lesbrarian

    Well, we pretty much shouldn’t talk about the chapter, or for that matter anything on which I’m drastically behind, but I feel the need to occasionally remind people that I am still slaving away at professional writing. The hope is that they will be moved by sympathy to buy me dinner, coffee, alcohol, etc. Not that this has ever worked.As for juvenile humor– er, since when are you a professional?

    Reply
  3. Oh snap!Of course, when reading your retort,I have to take into account that you are but a mere public librarian and everyone knows that your job is to supply heaps of romance novels.

    Reply
  4. eelemosenary archivist

    So Alberta in the Fall is a land that produces a certain melancholy mood & some nasty big winds. cross border Alberta Clippers course on down to afflict even Wlmsbrg residents with their fierce artic cold.Also home of that much neglected pair of 60’s-era folksingers Ian & Sylvia.Their ballads will bring a tear to the eye of any one yearning fer something unattainable.psthanks fer da book/post-read report will be duly filed. Gosh this is fun.keep on smilin. EA/tgb .

    Reply
  5. eelemosenary archivist

    OK I mispelled ‘Arctic’.Beware Buttes in bunny’s clothing.Buttes are nice notwithstanding.

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: