Hold on, beloved

I went to St. John's in Waterbury to meet with my Tuesday group yesterday and their was a huge box--2 feet by 4 feet--with my name on it in the library where we meet.

Cindy--the wondrous parish administrator--is cleaning out the archives and found the box with my name on it.

I took it to Higganum today and cleaned out the stuff I didn't want, but much is left.

Pictures, trinkets, notebooks full of stories I don't remember writing, a whole packet of sermons I preached, letters I wrote and received and lots of other stuff.

I'll be going through it more carefully in the days to come and will have much to share with you here.

You thought I've been sharing too much 'old' stuff lately.

Hold on, beloved, lots more to come!

Plus, here's something else from 2007....

                                WINTER DREAMS

I dream more than most people I talk with about dreams.
My Dream-Maker seems to go full tilt all night,
especially in winter when the wind wails
and whispers of sleet slide against the windows.

My dreams are not earth shattering, no prophecies
from a poet-god, nor are they full of advice .
Mostly, they are mundane--ordinary things:
often I am building something, a gizmo I understand now,
other times I am walking through strange lands,
seeing things I do not comprehend...but never afraid.
I have no nightmares these days.

Sometimes I dream lf sleeping in the bed with you.
I dream of waking up and watching you sleepl
and then dozing off again to dream of sleeping.
I dream of extremely hairy black dogs sitting on my head
and golden cats--like tiny lions--opening the door
to the room and falling asleep at my feet.

Just the other night, I dreamed I woke to your saying:
"can I have a glass of water?" and geting up to run
the water cold before filling the glass. Then I dreamed--
amazing as it is, that  you brought the water and said:
"you won't remember this when you wake up...."

But I did remember and when I woke, I wore a Puli like a hat
the the cat at my feet stirred and leapt from the bed.
I heard you downstairs making coffee.

"Let the day begin," I said, anxious to see you,
just as I slipped back under the winter covers
and slept, hoping to dream of getting up and joining you....

12/21/07--jgb