June 1, 2003

• Thursday morning I dreamed I lived in a beautiful palace in an ethereal coastal realm.  It appeared to be the Gulf of Mexico and reminded me of the ocean scenes with Shirley MacLaine and Jack Nicholson in the 1980's film, Terms of Endearment; the water was so clear and gray and serene, like in a bathtub.   However, our dock, a platform made of polished white-veined silver and iridescent marble, was so low--or the water was so high--it was almost level with the sea, which washed gently over it.  Suddenly a ship of ours had come in.  I had an underwater view of the high, wide white hull when big, clear, sharply delineated bubbles started to come out of it as if it were a toy boat being submerged.   I understood this was a normal part of the anchoring process, however.  Though we were flooding and things were going wrong, I felt strangely peaceful, as if I were outside of it all.  (Originally logged Thursday, May 29, 2003 at 8:21 PM EST.   Had to make room to go back and CORRECT some of my recipe quantities, hehe.)

  
  

  Where are all these beautiful places in dreams, and what do they mean?   Are they glimpses of Heaven to come, or heaven on earth should we choose the right path?  I capture them on paper in case they're a map......Shit, I hardly dream at all since I started college; too bushed.   But in grades six through ten I really got into my nightly sojourns.   It was during one of my creative phases and I was exploring every avenue in search of my muse.   I found her (uh, who?  WHAT?), only to learn she quickly fades if not constantly attended to.

  
  

  In eighth grade I was kicking around with my best friend Patti in their campy converted garage den when her little brother turned me on to pop singer Matthew Sweet.   I'd never heard of the guy before.  He came on in the midst of some old smelly red 78's we were playing on her father's suitcase phonograph.   We had to listen to Gershwin for our Fine Arts class homework.   I guess Steve, an outgoing but asthmatic tow-headed tyke with a severe stutter, slipped Sweet in there out of boredom.   Hmm, one of those nerdy types.  Not bad, sort of catchy.   Later that week I was meandering around in a record store and decided to check out his second album, Earth.    It was the change I was looking for and really groovy.   That started the dreams, even though I wasn't crushing on Matthew or anything.   I couldn't what with the diehard nad attacks I was getting over Dave S., ninth grader.   In fact I never thought of the man at all once the CD player was off.  But just who was Matthew Sweet?   I needed to know, cuz in my dreams he was the most dazzling knock out dude and my husband.   

  
  

  The first dream had me preparing for our wedding.   I was actually Suzie Sweet, whom Patti'd said was Matthew's real wife.  I seemed to be just getting out of high school and my parents lived in our cousin's old house in San Carlos they had in the late 1960's.  My father loved Matt, was really impressed with his ambition, and treated him like a son.   Though I was really happy and sure of my decision and looking forward to a brand new life away from ho hum suburbia, I felt swept along by life's powerful current, as if things were inevitable.  I was trying to lose weight to fit into my gown.   Funny, I was wearing two faded blue denim skirts, one over the other, and a white cotton eyelet peasant top.   There was a lot of pre-wedding family activity outside in front of the house, Matt and I getting in and out of the car, a classic VW bug.  Towards the end there was a family room scene with Dad and Matt decorating our cake, not the standard multi-tiered affair but an identical sheet cake I'd baked for girl scouts, carrot and pineapple with cream cheese icing and fat orange carrots I'd piped from colored cream cheese.  The men presented it to me with a laugh.  Weird.

  
  

  The next dream several months later and as unexpected as the first had us married and established in Hollywood.  Matthew was really busy and hardly around, but treated me like a princess, supporting me all the way in every endeavor; he really loved my writing and was helping to promote me as a screen writer.   I felt on top of the world.  Everything was going so well.   Matt was so secure and savvy and rich.   There was a scene in which I was on the top floor of our penthouse and he came up the elevator and surprised me with a whole crowd of celebs he wanted me to meet who would help me.    

  
  

  Then I dreamed we were actually filming one of my works and playing the characters ourselves.   Set in Renaissance England, there was a part in which Matt and I made love in a buzzing meadow.  It was located against these rolling green foothills and a step down, off an actual cement curb.  We were rolling around in the grass in a loving embrace with all our clothes on.   Oh, life was grand, life was good.   Good times, good company, good food and finery.  What more could I ask, except how could it all be so perfect?

  
  

  And whoever you stand for, Mr. Sweet, where are you?

  
  

  Woncha have my company?
  Ye-es, take it your hand.
  Go down on Velvet Green
  with a country ma-an!
  Who's a young girl's fancy
  and an old maid's dream.
  Tell your mother that you
  walked all night on Velvet Green.

  • 12:47 am
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