Dream Journal
John and Heidi and I were at the store buying a large stuffed animal. They had a bunch of other things to buy, and Heidi had a discount coupon for the store. She told me that we should get all of our stuff together to use the discount and I could pay her back for the stuffed animal.
The cashier rang up all of our purchases and when Heidi pulled the coupon from her purse, the cashier told her that the motherhood discount was no longer valid.
Heidi was sad, but felt like she should have already known this. We left the store and John already had the girls at the car parked on the side of the building, almost in a parking garage. I had parked in the front parking lot. We parted ways; I waved to them and went to my car.
I had parked by a large snow berm and by the time I returned to my car, it had partially fallen over onto my car. Standing beside my car, I pulled hard on the passenger door handle and the car slid away from the berm. But it slid so quickly that I was afraid it would hit the cars in the next aisle.
I was looking for a friend’s house in Homer. I followed the directions given to me — four rights and then a left — but the directions took me further and further into the woods.
I passed a small graveyard with very old headstones and ended up in someone’s back yard. I went back to Main Street and pulled out my instructions again. I saw that I had written down street names that were at the top of the hill and not at the bottom where I currently was.
I continued down to the health food store and decided I would grab the hippy bus. I sat down against the outside wall next to the owner who was scrambling eggs. She asked where I was from. I said Anchorage. She started to tell me about how much fun Homer is, when I told her that I grew up in Homer.
She got a twinkle in her eye and asked a question about a skillet. I didn’t understand her question, but I said yes. Then she asked me to share it, my family’s traditionally skillet recipe. My family didn’t really have one, but I told her it had onions and eggs and potatoes, very simple.
She was surprised at the potatoes in the recipe, but I told her we were a fishing family, as though that explained the potatoes. More people showed up to wait for the bus; we all sat in a circle in the dirt parking lot.
The bus was late. I probably could have walked up the hill in the time I spent waiting for the bus. A boy had a half an egg left, which he scrambled up for the owner: he had a crush on her. He had burnt his egg and tried to share it with everyone else. I declined.
I stuck my red stirring straw into the dirt and someone pulled it out saying that if my straw was lying on the ground then he wouldn’t give me the burnt egg, but if it was up he would. I didn’t want the egg anyway, so I put my straw back in the dirt. But I had used the wrong end of the straw, so now both ends were covered in dirt.
A lot of people walked by in a processional. I wondered if it was the bus, but the people were all wore roller skates.