Saturday, November 06, 2004

Well, I dreamed. . .

Yes indeedy. No, this wasn't "of Africa"*, or knights in shining armor or silver space ships flying in the yellow haze of the sun**. This was about sitting in a church service next to the novelist William Saroyan. A person's dreams are usually of no interest to anyone else (unless, of course, a psychiatrist is involved), as I have found on many an occasion when I have attempted to tell my long-suffering husband about my latest dream and he says "Just STOP! I don't want to hear anymore." William Saroyan. To the best of my knowledge, I have never read anything that William Saroyan wrote unless it was a short story in a college literature class. I went on a website and read about him. Some famous movies were made from his plays, but I don't recall having seen any of them. There was nothing in that website that gave me even a clue as to how he was even there in first place for my subconscious to find and inject into the dream. Indeed, it did not sound as though he spent too much time sitting in church. What a mystery. So I went to the public library and, amazingly enough, found a novel by William Saroyan The Laughing Matter. Someone had written in pencil on the flyleaf "This is a very good book!". I read it last night. It was good, but it was really depressing -- not a happy story. The library has one more of his My Name is Aram (or something like that). I'll try it next. (Do I have to tell you everything? *Movie title; **lyrics from the Neal Young song After the Goldrush)

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