I sit up in bed after filtering plenty of strange and disparate thoughts through my head. Just before I sat up, I was remembering that I told Luke and Isabel (and Bridget) that I’d give them the recipe for the mocha coffee cake I created a few days ago.
Right before that notion entered my noggin, I had been thinking about the cake itself and whether I should bake another when Luke, Isabel, and Julien visit this weekend. I pretty much talked myself out of it, since the three of them will be busy (and well fed) with Cait’s wedding and attendant festivities.
My gosh, there were so many thoughts: just one thing after another planted in my brain by some tiny aspect of the previous one.
Before all of that conscious stuff, though, there were the dreams: plates and pictures hung on a wall and one nearly falling on Jack’s head; a snide comment about Henry’s artistic snobbery; those gigantic and strangely shaped tomatoes I was growing and pulling off the vine; a holographic video of a lithe Natalie Merchant dancing just beyond my kitchen table; a conversation with my mother-in-law about a family friend who died suddenly. All of that played out on the movie screen of my mind between, I think, 9:00 and 10:00 am.
I awoke and looked at the clock any number of times this morning, but the lure of more sleep was too convincing to get my legs swung over the side of the bed and my feet on the floor.
The sun is shining out beyond that window, but enough clouds must be left over from yesterday to dim the light every minute or two.
Alright. It is time.