New Crosby Dream
I got a two-exclamation point (!!) text reply from Crosby this week, my first contact since the second Moonshot. I guess that means I'm still his Dutch Uncle. I got up without aid of an alarm clock this morning to feed the goldfish and put on a pot of coffee. I decided to go back to bed while it was brewing and while I was walking, I had this wild thought that it might be nice to have a dream about Crosby. Seeding a dream doesn't always work with me and I thought nothing else about it as I eased my way back under the covers.
But, in no time at all, I presume I was in REM sleep and dreaming about the actor, Peter Boyle ("Young Frankenstein", "Everyone Everybody Loves Raymond") and Crosby. The conceit was that Boyle was a member of St. Michael's, one of a handful of celebrities who make their church homes there (in real life, there are MAYBE one or two parishioners whose names might be recognizable to the general public.)
In the confines of the dream, Boyle was a father and an enthusiastic booster of the arts and even teaches Sunday School when his schedule permits it. His relationship to me was roughly the same as Raddad's; rising acquaintances.
Looking back on it, the dream seemed to be taking place in that time period in 2014-2015 when Crosby was fairly footloose; he was relaxed and funny and didn't seem too pre-occupied with the discernment process. Less "hagiographic", I suppose?
I think we were all three working on some sort of pageant or entertainment for the church and had decided to go out and grab something to eat. We were walking down a city sidewalk (even though the exact street wasn't clear) with other pedestrians. We were in good moods. Crosby himself seemed particularly care-free (another clue that this was taking place in a different era, almost) and kept embracing Boyle in a very hail-fellow-well-met fashion which Boyle only encouraged. Finally, they both stopped mid-stride while Crosby got in Boyle's face and fairly snuggled with him, sticking his butt out and wagging it almost like a dog would in greeting his master. When a few onlookers cast strange glances at us, Crosby explained, "This is my buddy!", by way of explanation.
I also discover that neither Crosby nor I are wearing footwear - of any kind. Only a pair of socks. Crosby's are bright blue for some reason.
Now, I could be mixing up two different dreams from the same eight hour period, but, I also have a recollection that, at some point - after the snuggling incident - that it was clear we were walking uptown from the City Hall area and that our destination was the Village. This would be a throwback to my pub crawling days in the 1980s when I walked everywhere in order to save a few bucks for an extra beer or possibly even a game of pool at one of the gay bars on the East Side.
It's no wonder that Crosby and Peter Boyle are nowhere to be seen from this point onward. Neither of them would have been part of my scene that far back (I doubt Crosby was even a gleam in Bing's eye!) But, eventually I do reach a fairly familiar destination, a coffee shop near Union Square. There, I discover, to my embarrassment, that I have no money. Not only no money, but, not even anything resembling a credit card. Nothing. All I have is a ticket of some sort. But, it is of doubtful value. I keep trying to swipe it like a credit card but it lacks the required raised lettering to effect anything. It's useless.
End of dream.
But, in no time at all, I presume I was in REM sleep and dreaming about the actor, Peter Boyle ("Young Frankenstein", "Everyone Everybody Loves Raymond") and Crosby. The conceit was that Boyle was a member of St. Michael's, one of a handful of celebrities who make their church homes there (in real life, there are MAYBE one or two parishioners whose names might be recognizable to the general public.)
In the confines of the dream, Boyle was a father and an enthusiastic booster of the arts and even teaches Sunday School when his schedule permits it. His relationship to me was roughly the same as Raddad's; rising acquaintances.
Looking back on it, the dream seemed to be taking place in that time period in 2014-2015 when Crosby was fairly footloose; he was relaxed and funny and didn't seem too pre-occupied with the discernment process. Less "hagiographic", I suppose?
I think we were all three working on some sort of pageant or entertainment for the church and had decided to go out and grab something to eat. We were walking down a city sidewalk (even though the exact street wasn't clear) with other pedestrians. We were in good moods. Crosby himself seemed particularly care-free (another clue that this was taking place in a different era, almost) and kept embracing Boyle in a very hail-fellow-well-met fashion which Boyle only encouraged. Finally, they both stopped mid-stride while Crosby got in Boyle's face and fairly snuggled with him, sticking his butt out and wagging it almost like a dog would in greeting his master. When a few onlookers cast strange glances at us, Crosby explained, "This is my buddy!", by way of explanation.
I also discover that neither Crosby nor I are wearing footwear - of any kind. Only a pair of socks. Crosby's are bright blue for some reason.
Now, I could be mixing up two different dreams from the same eight hour period, but, I also have a recollection that, at some point - after the snuggling incident - that it was clear we were walking uptown from the City Hall area and that our destination was the Village. This would be a throwback to my pub crawling days in the 1980s when I walked everywhere in order to save a few bucks for an extra beer or possibly even a game of pool at one of the gay bars on the East Side.
It's no wonder that Crosby and Peter Boyle are nowhere to be seen from this point onward. Neither of them would have been part of my scene that far back (I doubt Crosby was even a gleam in Bing's eye!) But, eventually I do reach a fairly familiar destination, a coffee shop near Union Square. There, I discover, to my embarrassment, that I have no money. Not only no money, but, not even anything resembling a credit card. Nothing. All I have is a ticket of some sort. But, it is of doubtful value. I keep trying to swipe it like a credit card but it lacks the required raised lettering to effect anything. It's useless.
End of dream.