I slept well. I had one very strange dream about my mother's sister, Jean, who was quite important to me through college. When I returned to Middletown on 1972, after a disastrous attempt at teaching, I went from being her A+ nephew to a pariah, and our communication from then until her death around 1976 was virtually non-existent.
Those seven years from 1972 to 1979, driving a delivery truck, often wishing I were dead, and too often feeling like a total failure in my family's eyes, allowed me to hone everything I needed to move to New York: I discovered I was a good director, not a bad actor, not a bad designer, a good orchestrator, a good arranger, but a mediocre composer. If I had succeeded teaching in a podunk university in 1971, I would not have had the career I've had for the past 40 years. I'm sorry my Aunt Jean never lived to see that.
But this dream was a strange one, straddling time periods and locations, something about house sitting, something about travel.
