In responsibilities begin dreams?

I went to bed around 11 and slept until I woke up around 6 from a lovely flying dream in which I was accompanied by one of the Spanish teachers, with whom I’d spent some time talking on Friday at school.  She had a baby in the spring and returned to work in the fall, and I flagged her down to ask her what her most immediate thoughts were about how to support Gamma when she comes back on Monday.  (Gamma and I have already had some conversations about that, of course, but I was curious about what the newly returned teacher thought.  The answer mostly had to do with how difficult it is to get to the room where new mothers pump milk, pump and hurry back in time for class.  Fortunately, Gamma’s schedule looks fairly good for that: there’s one day when she might need someone to get her students started on something if she is running late.  I can actually do that, too, because it’s one of the classes I’ve been teaching up to now.  We’ll talk.)

In the dream, flying was almost effortless, although it did require some awareness.  We were apparently flying to Las Vegas, although we flew over some desert-looking areas first–more like the planet Dune, not so much like anything I know in the U.S.  And then we were over some lush green landscapes.  I felt joyful and free, flying.

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Band dater (Photo: Amazon.)

Then I woke up and went back to sleep again and had a much more complicated dream in which SA had a satellite library that reminded me, in its freestanding, summer-cottage kind of way, rather a lot of the library at a writers’ conference in Vermont, although it was blond wood rather than painted white.  This was a dream about dealing inadequately with things and having trouble with time, as I was somehow serving as a temporary morning librarian, and members of the SA community were coming in before school, not so much to browse the shelves as to look at certain books, some of them having authors with the same last names, that were laid out on the wooden floor.

I had a box of yellowed cards that didn’t match the books, and an ancient rubber stamp set to some date in the 1960’s that I kept trying to adjust, but when I adjusted one band, the other numbers would change, too.  People, including one of the SA librarians, who is one of the longest-serving staff members at SA, would ask me to check things out and then wander off while I was struggling with the cards and the stamp and realizing that the old cards, which were mostly illegible, had to have their information crossed off so that they could be used to record the loans of the books, which didn’t have cards in them.  There was a student there with whom I’ve also struggled.  He’s a football player who doesn’t like football, but seems curiously unwilling to like much else about school; he likes to read, but he resists putting forth more than minimal effort to do well in class.  Often he does well in spite of himself (he usually aces reading quizzes), but I have to work on him to get him to produce more than a trickle of writing.  He wanted to check out a book, and I really wanted to check it out for him, but I couldn’t seem to make it happen.  And yet it was also quite a pleasant morning, and no one seemed upset by my incompetence; everyone wandered around patiently, chatting and looking at books, while I messed around with the cards and the stamp.

 

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