this past weekend i had a dream about being in italy. i believe i was there with family, at the very least i recall being there with my son. anyway, i was there visiting relatives. i was with an uncle of mine, who had immigrated to the US in his early 20's and has lived hear for another 20, and who was back there living in italy again. he was showing me his place and urging me to stay there for an extended period of time... like a month. his house was a nice villa on a farm, with all the typical imagery- bathed in soft golden light; bales of hay; bunches of grapes; hand-made pasta; fresh olives and tomatoes; beautiful marble floors; comfortabe, simple, wooden furniture; balconies overlooking farm valleys. all these things i saw on my trip to italy. we spent one long day on a train, riding from rome to florence. we accidentally ended up on a "local" train, which made all the stops. in retrospect, it was nice. we got to stop and see many small towns on the way, rather than speeding past them all. beautiful fields of gain, one amazing sunflower field. anyway, i wanted to stay, i wanted to raise my son there, in such a rich, natural setting. i was torn, i felt the urgency of life at home- nagging me. it was the embodiment of my longing for a simpler life- an invitation from a welcoming, generous relative to whisk my family away to an idyllic, pastoral life. i don't think i'm explaining it very well, but whatever.

seeing is believeing

so i went to the eye doctor because i had been noticing that my vision is not as clear as it used to be. i thought maybe i would be able to get away with not needing glasses before i'm old and grey- but apparentlt this is not the case. i made an appointment, printed out online driving directions, and went on my way. i took the wierd eye test two times, with two different people, looking through this crazy machine and having lazers shoot into my eyes and this ting touch my cornea. they gave me wierd drops in my eyes, which i hated. and in the end, the doctor is like: "you're eyes are good." and she wrote me a perscription for glasses to use for diving at night and for looking at far-away things like movies at the theatre and overhead projectors. i felt a little cheated. i was all ready to start wearing glasses- i had prepared myself. oh well, whatever. so my eyes were dialated and i couldn't see anything close up. driving home was fun, couldn't read my directions, or the street signs. i made it back, though. i stopped at the bakery and the pizza place, for dinner and dessert. in the bakery i was looking ing the little display cases... but i couldn't read the little signs so i didn't know what anything was. the old lady behind the counter at the bakery was rude to me in a crabby-old-lady kind of way when she asked if i needed help and i said "i'm having trouble deciding", she responded with a sardonic "well you only have 1/2 an hour till we close". i wanted to say, "F you, if you think i'm ever coming here again!". but a younger girl behind the counter sort of sepped in and was nice to me. i explained to her that i just had my eyes dialated and she helped me understand what i was looking at. the old lady tried to warm up to me a little and kept suggesting the tiramasu. but i purposely didn't even consider it because that lady pissed me off. for all i know the tiramasu was better than what i ended up buying, but really i don't care becuase the satisfaction of ignoring that lady was sweeter than anything in that store.

last night i had a horrifying dream where i tried to save someone from drowning, but i couldn't. it was in like a subterranean storm drain thingy, where they had fallen, and i jumped in after. i was underwater and was wearing this heavy jacket; swimming in it was impossible, i couldn't move my arms fast enough- like i was swimming in glue. and the person disappeared, was sucked into a pipe, as i reached out and grabbed for them. a feeling of paralysis and panic and fright, and the dream cut off there. my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach just writing about it.

finger painting

so today i came into work with a beatuiful red finger paining from my 1 year old son. it was made at a baby class with my wife yesterday. it's his first official artwork (if you don't count crayons on resturant placemats). it's red paint on newsprint. there are two distinct handprints, and also a lot of smearing and stuff. i love it. i put it up in my cubicle. the first of many, no doubt. yet another item to check off on my list of obligatory proud-daddy hallmarks.