I’m here at the swanky 9th, it’s 5 a.m., Saturday morning, February 25th, outside it’s minus 16. I just woke up from this strange dream that was weirdly, cut short…

In the dream: I’m driving dad’s 1968 Plymouth Fury station wagon with the wood side paneling. On top is a huge white canoe tied on. I can see the bow of the canoe reaching out over the hood of this huge station wagon and the canoe, yes, white, seems to be made of puffy white clouds. I’m driving slowly through the city streets and entering a parking area that is clearly the front entrance of a flashy hotel. It’s day time but the buildings are tall and so the light down by the main entrance isn’t in a blaze of sunshine. Out front is a well dressed native man, about 40, clean and sober, as brown as me, and wearing some very long and thick black braids, 2 of them, hanging down the front of his jacket, down to near his waist, and he’s slim. He was wearing a burgundy shirt, black jacket, brown skinned, black hair, and in some kind of a snit about something. With him is an older man, older than me, also native, also very brown, also with very long braids, but filled with grey hair, and he is clearly trying to talk some sense into the younger man. I see the younger man through the windshield of this mega station wagon as I roll up slowly and stop in front of him. He’s off to the right side of the vehicle and I can see him looking in awe at this monster of a classic set of wheels and he’s looking at the massive canoe I have tied on top. Then he looks back at me: clearly an Indian, driving this classic automobile, huge canoe on top, what is the story? And I can see he’s still a bit upset about something, none of my business, but I tell him anyway: Why don’t you settle down?

Hmmm. What do you make of that?