My wife likes to tell about tribal cultures that recount their dreams to each other. I forget why they do.
Anyhow, here's an actual dream I had last night. Were I to tell it around the fire, while the shrinking heads were boiling, there's no telling what would happen.
So there I was with Todd Palin.
We were doing guy sorts of things, fishing maybe. Outdoorsy. Getting to know each other, becoming buddies. I liked the guy, and he liked me, it seemed. At some point I noticed he had some newspaper clippings, containing letters I'd written to the editor. (For some reason, the paper was The Oregonian, the paper with which I grew up but to which I've never sent a letter.) They were partisan, of course, but not particularly inflammatory; this, anyway was the incepted assumption. But I assumed that he'd soon be reading my blog.
I think there was some conversation about it; in any case, the dream ended at an airport, I think, where we were saying our goodbyes. I told him it'd been great to know him on a personal level, he seemed to imply likewise, and there was the knowledge that when he got home he'd be checking out my blog.
I figured I wouldn't be hearing from him again.
