The Cat in the Hat

After waking up this morning to cold rain, I wanted to do nothing other than burrow under the covers for a long while. Lazy Saturday in the makings for sure ... then the "Mommy can I get uuuuuuup?" coming from Douglas' room and the call from a creditor who wants paid coming almost simultanously. After stalling the caller and finally admitting I was who she wanted talk to but she'd woken me up and should call back later, Douglas came traipsing in bright-eyed and ready to play. He requested a book, and looking over at Michael who had yet to stir or blink in reaction to anything, I decided I could get myself out of bed. It wasn't till we'd settled on the couch with his choice of Green Eggs and Ham that I remembered the dream I'd been having and why I was so reluctant to leave the bed. I managed to recall bits of it between lines of "I will not eat it in a boat, I will not eat it with a goat", knowing that if I didn't play it through immediately I'd lose it. The dream centered around left over helium balloons from a party, that if you grabbed one in each hand and trotted over a hill or jumped a bit, would take you flying just like Curious George. There seemed to be some way to conrol height and direction by raising one arm or the other, though not with great precision. It still depended on the helium, wind, and terrain. It was GREAT fun to float and wander, though I eventually landed in a slimy corner of a lake (in preference to coming down hard in some trees) and had to wade out. Then the phone rang. I won't attempt to decipher that one too much, just writing it out gave me ideas that I don't like too much!

Douglas' next book choice was The Cat in the Hat, and he has a taped version that he wanted to hear, with me turning the book pages to follow along. I heard the words and looked out the window, and determined not to let the day keep us indoors. Several hours later, after an Olga visit and breakfast (and a nap for me, sans dreams), we made it out the door and got soaked and frozen going to the farmer's market. I love buying directly from the farmers, and the eggs that they sell bear not a shred of comparison to the ones in the store other than the fact that a chicken laid them. The Greenmarkets here require that what is sold be harvested or raised by the person selling it, no reselling allowed. This makes for rather personal service, and you almost feel you could know the name of the chicken (or unfortunate cow) that produced the eggs and beef we bought. I actually saw packages of beef in one stall that had the label FRED stamped on them, along with many other product names/contents etc .... and wondered for a moment if that indeed was a piece of a cow named FRED, but discarded it as an absurd notion. I still don't know what it stood for, but don't believe they actually do that. But to satisfy my curiousity, I'll ask (oops, not next week as I'll be at Bon's!!) next time I go.