The Kiss

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  “Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself up in bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in his mind and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that someone had caressed him and made him happy—that something extraordinary, foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. The thought did not leave him even in his sleep. When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill of peppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart just as the day before.” The Kiss By Anton Chekhov (1860–1904)

These Dreams

 What goes on behind closed eyes? Whatever it is, it’s strange. Dreams are places you live another life. For example, at that place between asleep and awake, there is a sudden flash of understanding, then it’s gone. That place is called Never-never Land. Some people remember their dreams, few are inspired by them. But dreams are not relegated to sleep except by common usage. Dreams are synonymous with thoughts, ideas. I can’t say I’ve fallen out of bed inspired to do much except check the plumbing, but I’ve had ideas. 

Once, while still in my single digits, I made a Monster-Kicker. The idea came to me after unwelcome monsters that snuck through my door while I slept. Necessity is the mother of invention, after all. A boot mounted to the end of a stick was affixed on a hinge. The contraption activated by a pulled string tied to the doorknob. When the door opened, the intruder would be subsequently booted back into the hallway. Well, that’s how it was supposed to work, anyway.


One dream I’ve had was to write a book. I can’t think of how many pages I’ve written over the last 35 + years, but I’ve filled entire volumes with handwritten material (the pic is only a sampling of six years—other journals are in storage or lost). While nothing is intended for publishing, I’ve written a pile of books. I can somewhat relate to Benjamin Franklin, who while writing his autobiography, often failed to remember if he’d written this or that because he was not near his personal library at the time to check. And he was no slouch when it came to making his ideas come to fruition.




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