I went to bed just before five in the morning, cuddled up behind Nettl, and fell asleep F-A-S-T. I’d worked all night on her website and also did a little fine-tuning on her weblog, mostly because, since the sinus infection-slash-conjunctivitis hit me, I haven’t been able to sleep enough. Every time I lay down for a short little nap, I end up sleeping like it’s night time. Fortunately, that seems to have passed now and I feel great. I’m finally getting to all the things that have been piling up around here. So I’m sleeping, right? Nettl, Joel, and the kids leave without a bit of it registering in my kipped out brain...
And I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming that there’s a party at my house (not this house—one I’ve never seen before). It has a large, wood-paneled family room and bar, with a beautiful computer on a desk, a huge set of bookshelves on one wall and basically all the things that keep little me happy. The girls from The Cat Clinic are at my party, along with Nettl and the kids, of course, Ville, and some people I don’t recognize.
John Denver is there too, looking through my books and asking me if I have the lyrics of one of his songs called Trees. I tell him I don’t and add, “You wouldn’t find them in there anyway,” and I go to get some wine. He follows me, still bugging me about the lyrics, and I tell him that if he’ll get me a glass of wine, I’ll look the song up on the computer. He agrees and we go about our tasks. He then comes to me with an empty bottle and tells me he drank it all, and I tell him there’s more in the bar. “In fact,” I say, “There’s a big bottle of Riesling over there; just bring that over.”
I try to look up his song lyrics and can’t. There is no John Denver song by that name that I know of, although I discovered this morning that there is one called, Alfie the Christmas Tree and he was the spokesman for the Plant A Tree program of the National Arbor Day Foundation, but I’m not aware of any of this in my dream.
He brings me the bottle of wine and I see that he’s also consumed half of that, but I pour myself a glass and we both get our guitars and start to make up a little song called Toilet Flies to the tune of the old church hymn, Toiling On. The crowd draws around us in a circle, laughing, while we’re having a good old time taking turns making up verses.
I don’t know how to describe the sequence of events that happen next, but I’ll try. I begin to make up a verse:
"Toilet flies, toilet flies,
Somewhere in my house…"
Somewhere in my house…"
(At this point, someone steps out of the crowd and farts a perfect pfft-FFT!)
"…are toilet flies!"
Man, what a great way to start the day! I’m laughing just writing this.
