Max & C are away for an overnight at the homeless shelter, and Abby had a rough night on Friday night, so we hung back for quiet time and sleep. And it worked. We played until 8:40 or so, and she actually crashed on the floor, and had to be schlepped to bed all passed out. She awoke once, at 9:30, was easily soothed, and as of 8:27am, is still out. Which means I caught nearly eight hours of sleep. I woke up numerous times, mostly because my REM was pretty active. Here's some of it:
Undetermined time before dawn: No images, just the phrase "prostitute barefoot in the snow" being spoken aloud by a woman's voice.
Woke me at 5:23: Sitting on the floor in a living room I don't recognize (I observe that it has too few books), watching my brother-in-law, Brian, tune an enormous cello made out of cherry, or mahogany, something reddish. Brian does not play the cello in the real life, but he does in my dream. As he tunes, multi-colored notes slide from the strings of the cello and fill the room. I am holding my daughter on my lap, she is warm and happy and smells good and is playing with a non-talking baby doll.
Woke me at 6:55: My wife and I are in what I can only describe as an apothecary's shop with wood floors above a residence. We have mortar and pestle and are gathering ingredients to make some sort of chemical concoction related to potency. The motivations are unclear, but the ingredients include things like powdered shrimp, toadstool stems, yellow cubed salt, something red that looks like coarse paprika but isn't, some little blue swirly things, and a couple I now can't remember. Vic Tayback is helping us, wearing a white shirt beneath a yellow sweater vest tucked into khakis. For those of you keeping score, (or running a diagnostic) this is the second Vic Tayback dream. We are being quiet, worried that we will be caught, when the nice lady who owns the place opens the door on us, tells us not to worry, and starts helping us make the concoction, as she knows more about this kind of thing than anyone else in the rather cramped, jar-laden room. Vic takes me aside and tells me that he wears a size 13 shoe.
Woke me at 8:14: I am working at a large drafting table on a comic book about super-intelligent non-violent socialist moles, when something explodes outside my window. A truck has detonated on the street, it appears, and so I run down about three stories to see what's going on. As soon I open the door and hit the street, I register that the truck was full of what look to be now partially destroyed Bibles, which are burning and filling the air with swirling, smoldering pages and smoke. I grab a fragment and glance at it, but it's gibberish, and I wake up. This one seems pretty obvious to me in terms of interpretation.