Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Music box tour bus jetliner

My dream world is as active as ever these days. Last night I was on a flight in a sort of cross between a jetliner and a tour bus with about a dozen passengers I don't know.

This plane had huge curved windows so you could really see out. Not like the little peepholes in a jetliner. We took off from an airport in a canyon and had to dodge power lines and shear rock walls for a while until we broke out into a sort of alpine landscape. The pilot gunned it and we rose sharply toward some Sierra-like mountains. Then we were flying along a little road in a Hoofhaven-like landscape... curving along the roadway under the trees like a car. Heh.

We came across an old ramshackle abandoned house and stopped to tour it. It was like a museum ghost town house... all the furniture was there, plates on the table in the kitchen as if whoever had lived there just walked away one afternoon. There was a huge red 1930s O'Keefe and Merit range in the kitchen, surrounded by cheap 1970s 'wood-grain' kitchen cabinets -- like a bad remodeling job had been attempted at some point in the home's rather humble past. Somebody said, "If these walls could only talk."

There was a photo album on a small dusty table. This photo album was full of everyday snapshots from the family who had lived in the house... card games at the table, holiday and birthday dinners, kids clowning around, you know, just regular family snapshot stuff. Nothing special, but really sweet. Now here's an interesting thing: The album had an audio narration! Each snapshot had an audio recording of what the people were saying when each photo was snapped. So, in essence, those walls *were* talking. I suddenly realized that the narration was actually coming from a little ornate music box next to the photo album. This fancy music box looked out of place in the otherwise rundown room and I thought it must be a treasured family heirloom.

I could write for hours about the running dialogue coming from that music box, but I decided that I really wanted to take it with me so I could bring it home and digitize it on the computer. It was such a lovely little documentary about the family who had lived here and I wanted to preserve it. The music box was mechanical and I knew that it would inevitably break down some day. If I could digitize it and upload it to the net, it might be preserved and shared.

I didn't want to just take it... that felt disrespectful. I put the idea to a vote among the other passengers and the consensus was that it was worth preserving. So, I left a note on the table explaining what I was doing and included my name and address, in case the family came back some day. I promised to take good care of the music box and mail it back to the house when I was done. We all piled back into the plane/tour-bus and took off.


I LOVE dreamtime. It's the best part of the day.


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