coasting to a soft landing

I've been reading Mike Perry's Truck: a love story and enjoying it. In recent sections, he's been on a lot of book tours. Yesterday, John, Jacquelyn and I went to a panel on urban exploring at Flux Factory in conjunction with their "New York, New York, New York" show, sort of a riff on the Panorama at Flushing Meadows. It all came together in my dream last night. I had to get up to pee at 12:45 or so and the plane was just landing on the country road. It sure didn't feel like a crash landing.

The plane was really more like a country bingo hall or church recreation room: wide and not too full. I was sitting in the back row (more like the back seat of a bus), next to a small kid (Perry's Amy). We were flying along and went into a down swoop (not scary, more like a gentle amusement park ride). Then I was looking out the window at beautiful pine trees in the Cascades but I remarked to the kid that we were flying kinda low. Then we landed on the combination country lane/boat dock (that's probably a combination of the urban adventurers and Jacquelyn's going to Santa Monica) and coasted over to the edge of a cornfield. Folks were glad to be getting off the airplane for a while, some grabbing their toothbrush (good chance to freshen up, I think that was Dan Eshom). Margaret Webster was in a short skirt and kneeling on the floor (the floor was more like a van, probably the Contemporary Trends (Ithaca furniture store) van that was improbably in front of my NYC building yesterday morning). Then I woke up.

The morning dream was pretty colorful too but I don't remember it. Perhaps it's all the Perry sentence: Sometimes life is so simply good. (p. 163)