This was a cool dream. I know that there were a couple of intense ones earlier in the night, but this is the only one I remember.
Chris and I were on a trip with Mom and Dad, somewhere in the deep south – I think Atlanta – and we were driving along, a neighborhood of old houses, and we went to a garage sale. The woman had a whole bunch of big gas-fire kilns. Dad started talking with her about how he could get one to fire to three thousand degrees – why he needed that, I have no idea. While he was talking with her, I walk down a street and around a corner – now, I am in an uptown area, and I go into a small coffee-shop deli type place. There are some people there that either I knew, or get to know. I remember one man, who reminds me of Rodney. He says something about winning a drag contest. There was a girl who offered me a sandwich – it was wrapped in plastic, but it was open-faced, meat on a slice of bread. I told her I couldn’t have it, because of the bread; she reached in, and took the bread off, and looked at me like this problem was easily solved. I had to explain about celiac disease. I realized, though, that there were probably different things in there that I could eat – there were several items that had no bread at all. I walked back to where Mom and Dad and Chris were, and Dad was done talking about the kilns, but had apparently decided not to buy one. I thought we could go eat, but instead we got in the car and took off.
Later, we are driving again down a freeway, and Dad is drunk or stoned or something, and driving erratically. We finally stop at a big fair – we go in, and get snow-cones. For some reason, Mom hadn’t ever had one before. The snow-cones are ice piled up high and crooked on top of the cup, like crazy soft-serve ice cream, and the girls are squirting it with all different brightly colored syrups. The snow-cone girls are wild – they were like shot girls in a bar, just handing out snow-cones to everybody. When we go to buy tickets to get food and stuff, and to pay the snow-cone girls, the person in the ticket booth hands me two small brass keys – I asked why, and she explains it’s for the restrooms. I ask why two, and she says so that we can each have one, or toss another person in there. The whole place seems very raucous, like it’s a very party-hardy type crowd – more like a Spring Break kind of place, than the usual fair.
Somewhere at the fair, I walk into a big plant nursery; I remember trying to find a plant that has fragrant flowers, because none of them seem to smell at all. Several kinds are very pretty; they have passionflower vines, and several different kinds of roses. I flit (or fly?) to different white-flowered plants and bushes, thinking they ought to have fragrant blooms. There were some older women talking about different kinds of “cutters” – I think they meant flowers for cut bouquets. As they’re talking, I look at a very upright green foliage plant that has blue tips on the top; it reminds me of rushes.