Friday, August 10, 2007

Iowa dreamin'

(doesn't have the same ring to it)

I've had some odd dreams recently. Probably due to Facebook and reconnecting with old acquaintances from elementary, junior and high school, last night I was eleven or twelve years old, on the bus on the way home from school. There was a snow storm, so the bus driver took a different route. The popular crowd (yours truly not included) started chanting, "Waffles! Waffles! Waffles!" to get the bus driver to stop at a waffle place. (You'd think I'd clue in that this was a dream at this point.) I and said no, I had to get home. And I didn't want any waffles. Some other kids said no, but all the cool kids decided to blame me for not getting their waffles. I was very reasonable and said, "Fine; if you'd like to make me your scapegoat, that doesn't bother me." This in addition to other beyond-my-years comments throughout the dream makes me chuckle now that I'm awake. I was back in elementary school, but I had the insight of living life until now. I knew that the attitude of everyone around me was a passing phase. I was completely secure with myself. Hmmm. A calm, rational dream? Me?

Two nights ago, I had a typical musician anxiety dream. I was late for a rehearsal, and the two oboists were not in their seats. I had to play the principal oboe part (which I hummed through my instrument--standard procedure in my dreams), but then an English horn solo came up, and my EH was still in its case. (!!) I rushed to put it together (and what happened to my oboe anyway?), and instead of humming through the instrument as usual (that gets good results), I actually used the reed. I sounded worse than I ever have sounded in my life. The conductor stopped and glared at me. I couldn't even figure out the fingerings. Something wasn't translating. Individual notes on the page corresponded with numbers. Like E=2, A=8 (trust me, there was no logic to this). I would put down finger "8" for A, and it didn't work. The reed was the worst though. The conductor would stop and stare at his baton, wondering how it was producing such a horrible sound. Heck, maybe I was just plugged into some conductor's anxiety dream, and it wasn't mine afterall.

After telling Dave about my dream, he said, "sounds like a pregnancy anxiety dream to me!" (I have yet to experience anything weird like giving birth to a coconut...ok wait, I just remembered last night I was breast-feeding my cat, so nevermind!) Actually, I'm sure it was an actual reed anxiety dream. I have just over a month until my first rehearsal for the Saint Saens Organ Symphony, and I am still playing on my English horn reeds from last season. Guess what I'm doing today??

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