Last night I woke up from a tornado dream. It was not a nightmare, rather memorable. I was hanging out with my uncle Mario just inland from Lake Michigan - adjacent to the south Chicago Loop somehow, in his houseboat on a pond. Lots of nice windows, an all-glass ceiling I noticed; I spotted a tight little water spout dropping into the lake nearby, and while we enjoyed this rare but familiar spectacle the whole environment began to lightly sway. A larger spout just above began forming, and though it was only dancing around us the houseboat started to spin. As we got footing, this intensified and I bumped a window, breaking it. Quickly the spin got pretty heavy so we got down as the centrifugal newtons became a real concern - no witches, dogs or bikes (if you wonder), though Helen Hunt would have been welcome. Though I felt no fear, we realized in our minds the sudden risk and reality of losing control. While growing contemplative and calmly hopeful, I reached up with a smile and fist bump, commenting Hey I dont say this enough but I sure love you man. We spun for a moment, and I woke up. That dream was pretty intense, as were the past few days and weeks. It was quite a ride! Footnote: according to Oxford, it is now only potato, not potatoe - just like its tornado, not tornadoe. That disparity always bugged me; the plural of both still adds an e.
Posted on: Wed, 20 Nov 2013 08:25:04 +0000
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