Chicago, standing on Randolph looking down N. Garland Ct.

I am sometimes heard to say (and I cribbed the line at that) that there is nothing more boring than listening to someone else’s dreams. Of course, by saying that I pretty much put the kibosh on relating my own dreams. So I’m not going to, except to say that it is common for me to have dreams just before waking up, and the character of the dreams often sets my emotional state when I arise. Last night it happened twice.

Babycakes is staying with us (BlueMoon went south for a baby shower). I had a dream in the dark watches of the night that she was sad, and got out of bed at about 1:30. I went to look in on her, and she woke a bit, pulled up the blankets which she had pushed off, and went back to sleep. I sat in the armchair nearest her bedroom for about two hours (dozing off an on), with the vague thought that I was her watchman. Back to bed a bit after 3:30.

About 6:00 I had a long, complex dream which involved guitar playing (and included Pierre Bensusan, a favorite player). I woke with a very positive outlook from that one. Haven’t picked up my guitar yet, my Honey is still asleep, and I’m helping Babycakes with her school project. She’s doing a presentation on James Baird, who invented television.

I attended a workshop presented by Pierre Bensusan in his home in Bouresches, France, several years ago. Here he is playing “Wu Wei”:

4 responses to “Dreams

  • Mrs. Chili

    I think, for the purposes of this post, I need a definition of “dreams.” While I often have a hard time relating to others’ internal nighttime movies, I really DO love hearing about things to which other people aspire. “Dreams” as goals are things I don’t find boring at all.

    I find that I very rarely recall the substance of my dreams, but I almost always come away with a vague emotional impression of them.

  • drtombibey

    I know one thing. I can only dream of playing a guitar like that.

    Dr. B

  • Laurie B

    Love this, thank you.

    I paid good money to listen years ago in Cambridge. Great then, mature now. Mr. Bensusan brings out of his guitar all that a faithful lover could share. I can’t play guitar like that but I do understand the passion and joy. Who couldn’t wake up and go walk among the roses at midnight with this music in mind?

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