Dreaming big

Thanks, Mr. Stevens, for hipping me yesterday to that story on Van Cliburn in the Philadelphia Inquirer! I like that I am not the only one obsessed with concert pianists.

Naturally I got right on the Inquirer site and read that story. I actually think the writer was fair to Cliburn. But wow, he was unfair to Pennario last week in the Guardian. Boo to him.

Now on to more intellectual matters. Lastnight was great sleeping weather -- so cool and breezy. My goofy subconscious celebrated by sending me this really silly dream.

I dreamed I worked for the New York Times. And I had to go review a concert at Carnegie Hall. My sister Katie, the left-winger, was with me. We were all done up in evening wear. But we were supposed to ride bikes to the concert. We got onto the bikes in our long gowns and I said, "Katie, this won't work." So we sent my brother Tony -- he was there too -- to hail a cab and keep it waiting for us. By now it was 8:30. The concert started at 8. I remember hoping that it had started late. Also, someone had stolen my purse.

Leonard Pennario was in the dream too. He was an old man but he was not in a wheelchair, as he was when I knew him. He was walking, a little unsteadily. He was tall and I was walking next to him and I put my arm around him, I remember that.

What a funny dream! What does it mean? I am open to interpretations.

Leonard and I used to discuss our dreams last winter in California. He would usually ask me to come over at 3:30, and that was the time he was finishing up his nap. I guess the idea was that I would wake him up. So when he awoke, as he was lying in bed, we used to talk about dreams. Leonard always dreamed about the concert hall. He would tell me about what he was playing, what was going on. He got me dreaming about stuff like that too and one night I had hilarious dreams about having to play with Heifetz. Leonard was a great audience for that dream. He listened interestedly to all its twists and turns and then he said, "I wonder what it means!"

About the dream lastnight, I was planning on writing an email in the morning to James Barron, the New York Times reporter who wrote that great obituary for Pennario, so maybe that explains the part about the New York Times. And about being late for the concert, that's always a concern of mine in real life.

But what about the rest of it?

I wonder what it means!