Normally I would think twice before blogging about a dream I had. Dreams, which rarely follow (at least for me) a cohesive or linear narrative pattern, tend to be far less interesting to the listener than the dreamer might want to believe. Generally, if I'm going to share my nocturnal imaginings, I make sure that the listener was actually in the dream. That more or less guarantees an attentive audience. I also try to limit the anecdote to a sentence or two, as in: I had dream you were murdered last night.
This will be longer than a sentence, but I hope you will indulge me, McBoners. The dream was just so awesome on a personal level that I wanted to commit it to internet permanence.
In my dream, my sometimes-pregnant wife and I were hanging out with Kris Kristofferson. I don't know why, or what we were doing. I like to think we were drinking bourbon and singing songs, but that may just be wishful thinking. What I do remember is that, all of a sudden, Kris Kristofferson stood up and informed us that he would have to be leaving. Apologetically, he said but I'd like to give you this before I go. He pulled from his pack an especially large cut of raw flank steak, all hygienically wrapped in plastic. It comes from a cow that I raised and slaughtered myself. This should grill up real nice for you folks.
With that, the grizzled bard was gone. The significance? Those well versed in dreams and the subconscious mind would probably have an opinion. Me, I'm not sure it's anything more than a simple desire for the world I live in to be populated by aging troubadours who can appreciate a good cut of beef when they see one.