Nigtmare on Union Square or The L L Bean Giant Dream Strikes Again

I saw myself in fuzzy, inexpensive but warm, well made wool clog slippers. I was on the porch of a wide open farmhouse, presumably in Vermont, sipping tea. I was even wearing the typical plaid flannel shirt with the turtleneck underneath; my jeans were lined with warm plaid flannel as well. I wasn�t dragging in buckets of maple sugar but the aura was that it was a serious possibility. I was the quintessential L.L. Beaner, stuffing my grandchildren with wholesome oatmeal and raisin cookies while reading to them from Dickens, and Ogden Nash as I sat remembering how I had loved Ogden Nash when young, and had even named one of my first online journals I�m a Stranger Here Myself as a simple schoolgirl tribute. A golden retriever lay at my feet and my arthritic knees were kept warm by an old wool batik throw which I cherished for it origins, and for the fact that it was given to me by my first Indonesian lover, a lover from my time of freedom and absolute uncertainty. My papers of note, the work that had brought me my notoriety, were piled carelessly on the old kitchen desk covering the desk�s glorious patina, and taking away the desks ability to be seen, oh'ed and ah'ed over and objectively valued by the farmhouse guests for it's age. These papers were thrown carelessly without regard; as if they were nowhere near as important as in the reality of my heart and soul they were. It was as if my life in Vermont as a grandmother, master of dogs, and tender of the foliage were all that was important. There was; however, no feeling of serenity. It was a nightmare. Anyway I�m awake now, and have to go study, not that there will be anything to study as the fine institution I attend will be experiencing some strikage soon, but we won�t discuss my life of hard knocks here. In regard to the new Supreme Court Nominee all I can say is... Jesus. Now I never use his name in vain even though I don't think of him as the son of anyone but Mary, but I fear for us in this case. Should we have let the stupid not so bright evangelical in? No, of course not but let us not let this one in without a fight please. Seriously I have to digest all the ramifications of the new supreme court nominee and tend to an abrasion I obtained while parading around the village , not as the village idiot as some might presume but as a plain old box; slutty widows best not venture into the village at night for the same reason Red Sox fans shouldn�t. Need I say more? I was a slutty box though if that makes you feel better.