Grand Opening / Spoilsport

Friday night

Dream 1: Grand Opening

A previously-unpublicized Manhattan art studio used by the late John Lennon was opening as a gallery to permanently house his artwork. I was one of many members of the media who were invited to attend and to view the collection.

Dream 2: Spoilsport

I was attending a large picnic, and had leapt at the chance to take part in a game of Wiffle ball. There were male and female players of all ages. My team seemed to have only three players aside from myself. Apparently the game switched back and forth between Wiffle ball and hardball, because as I looked out at the other team I saw a young woman catch a line drive and shake her glove hand because it stung. I also noticed an old family friend, Jim B., who was playing first base. He had a large mitt -- almost the size of a hockey goalie's glove -- and it was filled with holes. It wasn't worn out; it seemed to have been designed that way for some reason. Maybe it was a softball glove. I think that that was a third option for the batters.

Eventually it was my turn to bat, and I was really pumped up. There was only one problem: the kid who was supposed to pitch to me was standing about two feet in front of home plate. He stared me down and started into a very elaborate windup when I called "Time Out!" and dropped my bat. I put my hands on his shoulders and together we walked off a certain number of paces until we got to where the pitcher's mound should be. Again, he started with the windup, and I stopped him, because he was going to throw the ball over-hand. I said, "If you are pitching softball, you have to do it like this." I proceeded to pantomime an underhand pitch. I went back to the batter's box, picked up my bat, and waited. The kid was wild. He threw one in the dirt, and then he threw the next one over my head. I was pretty exasperated; I wanted to hit that ball. The next thing I knew, the kid was distracted by someone behind me -- presumably his mom. He said, "I want to see how to put the baby carriage together!" and ran "off camera." That was the last straw -- I put the bat down and trudged off across the infield and through right field to get back to my friends and our picnic blanket.

*****

Dream 1

I'm still fascinated by John Lennon, and wish with every fiber of my being that that pathetic miscreant who killed him never crossed his path.

The other day I was talking with a coworker about the upcoming Harry Potter movie and the last book in the series, "The Deathly Hallows." I told her that I was recently reminded of a feature in several of the Potter books, the Mirror of Erised (that's desire written backward). Professor Dumbledore had to warn Harry that people had been known to waste their lives away sitting before that mirror, because it reflected their fondest wishes and dreams back to them. (For example, when Harry stared at the mirror, he was shown standing happily with his two deceased parents.) I mentioned that I spent hours and hours the other night on youtube, seeking out videos from the past, but mainly clips of John Lennon and George Harrison. As I watched Lennon being interviewed by Dick Cavett in 1971, I thought, "Man, he's so witty, so smart... he seems so alive!" And suddenly it was almost 4:00 in the morning. That's when it hit me -- youtube is the real version of the Mirror of Erised. If one wants to seek out the past, one in which John Lennon is still alive, as well as George Harrison, Johnny Carson, Robert Kennedy, etc., they are all there -- living and breathing, funny or inspiring as ever. For someone like myself, who frequently liked the way things were in the past more than he likes society of today, youtube can be a dangerous waste of time. It's great in moderation, but the problem is that I tend to dive into things. A youtube moritorium may be in order for me, at least for now.

One other thing may have inspired this dream. The other night my wife and I watched a fascinating documentary on PBS about an American watercolor artist named Walter Anderson, who spent much of the last 20 years of his life living on Mississippi's Horn Island. He was married, but had mental problems, and his family supported his decision to live alone. After his death in 1965, his family went to the cabin that he had built there and found hundreds, if not thousands, of amazing paintings that he had created over the years. Today a museum in Mississippi is dedicated to preserving the works of Walter Anderson, and that of two of his brothers. Unfortunately, his heirs kept some of his work in the cabin, where it was damaged during Hurricane Katrina. In any case, the story of Walter Anderson and of the preservation of his work probably filtered into this dream, too.

Dream 2

Last night I went down to McCabe's Pub to pick up some carry-out, and caught a few minutes of a baseball game featuring the Cincinatti Reds. I watched the shortstop throw somebody out at first, and was impressed by the accuracy of his hard, fast toss. That putout probably led to the scene in dream 2 in which the girl shakes her glove hand after catching the line drive. I was probably wondering if the Reds first basemen's hand ever hurt after catching a throw like that.

I certainly do love Wiffle ball and softball, although my reflexes may not be quick enough to play softball anymore -- at least not in the infield. This dream may have been inspired by a family reunion I attended in South Carolina many, many years ago. It was a gathering of families who shared my last name. Most of the people there were distant cousins, and I didn't know any of them. Anyway, we were having a picnic, and at one point somebody organized a game of Wiffle ball. I was probably already feeling insecure, but I liked Wiffle ball, and wanted to play. The pitcher for the other team was a tall, thin guy, who was pretty mean to me. I thought of him as a grown-up at the time, but he was probably no older than 25, if that. I wanted to do well, but struck out a few times, and was tagged out once or twice. I still remember that guy holding me up for ridicule, pointing to me at the end of one inning, saying, "He made all of their [team's] outs!" I've never been keen on attending family reunions since, at least not with people that I don't know.

It's funny that in this dream it seemed time for me to be the intolerant, jerky adult.