Making a Mess

Sunday night

I was upstairs at my parents' old house, preparing to paint a plaster wall in my one of the bedrooms. I was working with a compound, sort of a mound of primer, that I was planning to spread on the walls when the old paint was cleared away. It was white and fairly sticky, with the consistency of dough. As I scraped the old paint, the chips were falling all over, and soon I had quite a mess on my hands. I decided that the expedient thing to do would be to use the ball of primer to pick them up, or as a spot where I could stick the paint chips as I came across them, or as I pulled them from the wall. Of course, after a few minutes, I realized that I'd made a big junkball, and that it would be nearly impossible to spread the mixture on the wall later. I was standing there puzzling over what I had done when I heard the doorbell ring on the first floor. I walked downstairs, where my wife had opened the door and greeted John Seigenthaler, who had come by for a visit. They were sitting in the dining room when I got there. Mr. Seigenthaler rose from his chair when he saw me, and I said, "Hi John. I'd shake your hand, but... and showed him evidence of the paint and primer.

(At that moment I was awakened by the morning alarm.)

*****

John Seigenthaler is a pretty important guy in Nashville, and well respected. We've spoken once or twice, and he's been nice to me. He hosts a weekend show on the local PBS station called "A Word on Words." I saw one of his programs recently in which he interviewed author Bruce Barry, Professor of Management and Sociology at Vanderbilt University and president of the ACLU of Tennessee, about Barry's book "Speechless: The Erosion of Free Expression in the American Workplace." It was a very interesting show.

It seems to me that in almost every case, dreams are unique events; a mixture of sights, sounds and stories that will never occur exactly the same way again. That's why I'm always sad when one of my dreams is interrupted. I'll never know where it could have led.

By the way, I don't remember any peeling or chipping paint inside the folks' house. Mom wouldn't have put up with that.