I woke to the alarm at 7:00am, got out of bed and slowly began to prepare to go skiing with John and Mo. The phone rang. It was John saying Mo had a cold so they would not be going. I lacked the conviction to go alone, so, as I was still dressed for bed, I went back there, and dreamed as I have never done before. Jay texted me just as consciousness was returning and I was struggling to get out of the dream but still remember it.
He said he couldn't resist being a cliched Canadian and commenting about the weather. I wasn't sure what he meant until I opened the blind and saw that between 7:00 and 9:30 a lot of snow had fallen. It was still dropping from a pale white sky. And yesterday it rained on Vernon's Winter Carnival Parade. The weather in Canada trumps Donald again. It's less predictable and much better looking. No wonder we talk about it all the time and can't bear the sight or sound of him. Of course I speak for myself and not the two men I sat in the Rec. Centre sauna with last Wednesday. They had nothing but praise for Trump and were eagerly awaiting what they believed would be the inevitable arrest and incarceration of Clinton (which one I don't know) and Obama. He was cleaning the swamp. I kept an uncharacteristic and cowardly low profile the whole time, pretending I was either mute or meditating.
My thoughts are muddled in the cool silence of my own living room. Imagine if I'd tried to give vent to them in the heat of the sauna. I think it would be easier to argue about how many angels can fit on the head of a pin than about how much mud covers which frogs in the swamp that Trump says Washington is and always has been. I've spent my life trying to learn about people and ideas, trying to decide which ones I want to be with and learn from. And I think I am now able to make some distinctions in those areas. Is there no longer a difference between 'right reason' and 'opinion'? I can't swallow his cant about "alternate truth". It's less digestible than mushy peas, which I don't actually mind. And I love leftovers.
Jay said he'd also had weird dreams this morning. I don't know what to make of mine. I was seated at the back of a fairly big, old, dirty, off-yellow, fibreglass boat. How's that for a string of adjectives. Mom and dad were in the middle and Jim was at the front, driving. The waves got big. We passed quite close to a pier and then drifted out. We started to sink. Mom made some indistinct noises and that was it until I was aware of her hugging me as I lay in bed. All I could see was a fuzzy white blanket, but I knew her head was covered by it, and I could feel a light pressure of her body on me. Then I heard the sound of a train that announces the arrival of a message on my iPhone. It was Jay.
Moose Junction, the turning point on one of our snowshoe hikes.
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