I have always dreamed in technicolor lunacy, but some nights are more bizarre than others. Last night, for instance, was stranger than it has been in a while, all the more because I still remember about half of it.
It all began in my parent’s house – at least in my dream it was my parent’s home, despite the fact it was a log cabin with a lean-to kitchen and not at all like any home in which my parents have lived. So here we are in my parent’s log cabin, and I walked into the lean-to kitchen to get a drink of water, and there was a beaver in the sink. I asked my parents if they were aware that they had a beaver in their sink, when the beaver sat up and looked at me. A raccoon came out of a cupboard and began chasing the beaver around the kitchen and into the living room. My father took a long time trying to put .357 ammunition in his snub-nosed stainless steel.22 revolver (everything about that is quite funny) before announcing that he couldn’t actually shoot the beaver, because he had to go to work. As if to fill in the gaps, my brain then put him in a Chick-Fil-A manager’s uniform. As he walked out the door (presumably to Chick-Fil-A) he told me to call my brother and have him do it. Confused (I don’t have a brother) I asked, “Do you mean Brian?” (my brother-in-law) To which my father answered, “Sure. Brian could do it too.”
I don’t know what happened to the beaver and the raccoon, because the next thing I knew I was back in my neighborhood visiting my friends Brenda and John who had retired from their jobs in Georgia and decided that a seminary neighborhood in St. Louis was the perfect retirement community for them. As they were giving me a tour of their place, I noticed fresh sheet rock on walls in their basement. “Oh. Jesse let you build walls?” I asked. “We’re not renting,” they answered. “We bought.”
So I walked up the hill from their place and over to the Brown’s where I invited them for dinner (which we really need to do). The Browns are seminary friends of ours in real life, but don’t live ANYWHERE near us. Anyway, I invited them to dinner, and in discussing seating arrangements for our combined children, Rebecca said to me, “Well, you have three kids and we have four, so that’s only one extra child.” Baffled, all I could think to respond was, “I don’t think that’s how math works.” We then moved on to planning time. I told her we were thinking about 5:30, and she said, “Ooooooh. That’s early for my kids. We usually eat around 10:30.”
I don’t know if any of that is as hilarious to y’all as it is to me, but at the very least it will prove to you that what you had always suspected about the fragility of my sanity is absolutely true.