Posted February 6, 2018 – Narrated by Carmen.
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For as long as I can remember, my dreams were centered on the interiors of dozens of houses I’ve occupied from early childhood to the present. But now, if any of those houses materialize at all, I am always on the outside viewing the exteriors as the structures wash up on a seashore, emerge in a clearing on a forested hill or pop up into the center of a highway.
Only rarely do I enter the “dream” houses but when I do, the windows are disproportionately large, gaping open like industrial garages and all kinds of wildlife nesting in and around the furnishings and crawling up in the trusses.
I shared all this with Jim and asked him if he thought we might be going feral. After a moment of quiet consideration, he said that he didn’t know and conjectured that boxed wine and Salonpas would be prime bait for trapping feral trailer geezers. Sheesh! Cajuns …
So, I take this flip side of my dream-work to mean that, maybe, a shift has occurred …? that LIB is no longer in the realm of fantasy – the dream is now realized and I’ve entered a new dimension of unexplored territory.
I don’t know, but I wonder if other creatures released into their native habitat experience a similar transition.
I fly more now, too. Before living in Beauty, I’d bump my knees while gliding over rooftops, get tangled in power lines … but these days, I gracefully skim along rivers, lakes, and fields – run my fingers through the leaves and watch the road below for the streak of silver which will be Beauty, Jim, and Pico meeting me for a rendezvous …
But, where are they? Oh no! Time is running out!
One dream-theme that has not changed is the ever-present antagonist, Time.
Which brings me to Savannah. If any city could cast a spell …
So, that’s where we spent my 62nd birthday week! Savannah knows how to tame Time …
The weather couldn’t have been better. It rained – drizzled mostly with a few downpours. When it wasn’t raining the soggy Spanish moss tapped a tune on the trailer roof that went something like, “take-a-nap, take-a-nap, take-a-nap …”
The tantalizing food scene – just a short drive from our campground – roused us out of Dreamland and into Comfort-Food land. Back and forth, back and forth – like windshield wipers – this dining out and napping thing played out for days.
Savannah had a deep-tissue effect on me. Even though it’s one of the most beautiful cities in North America …
… and second only to Chicago for cool buildings and architecture, the place doesn’t put on highfalutin airs.
Savannah is too big for that. She has softness and pulse, prays for me, feeds me biscuits and calls me “Baby.”
Then, we grabbed us some beers and set out to solve the great southern conundrum and had a good’ol history walk-about to boot.
Sipping a local IPA while taking a self-guided tour of the downtown historical area proved to be prescriptively beneficial when confronted with the harsh realities of colonization, slavery, the Civil War and the struggle for civil rights …
On the first sunny day, we took the Old Town Trolley Tour. This is another nifty and thrifty way to explore the city, enjoy all-day transportation and get elevated open-air city views from a cool, comfy seat.
That voluptuous tree canopy hinders views of those bodacious buildings from the curb, so the bus tour was essential for safely taking pics of the iconic street scenery from the middle of the street.
Then, before going home, we stopped by Red & White Grocery and stocked up on smoked butt, slow-cooked field peas, turnip greens with extra pot liquor, fresh cornbread … and Mascot Chocolate Covered Pecans.
During our early supper, it started to drizzlin’ again. So we did the dishes and stretched out for a movie and a cozy nap because, Baby, that’s how it goes in Savannah where – for some reason I do not understand – you’ve got all the time in the world.