Burning down the house

So now that Krstn has mentioned it, I must respond.

All I remember is that my brother and I were going to try to burn down a house but try to hide the fact.

So he had put some firestarter in some...food? I can't remember. And as we were leaving the house, in the foyer, he put the bowl down and it was burning with a small blue flame.

And I took the bowl and turned it over on some catfood, so the two were burning. I lifted up the first bowl to make sure it was still burning. And it was. And we left. And I remember thinking that any good fireman would know that this was arson, because of the firestarter and the strange way the two bowls were lying together. Firemen have their special ways of knowing.

It is harder to keep track of dreams when you have to jump up and get a bobby for a crying baby, isn't it?

Speaking in tongues

Somewhere over the course of the last few nights, I dreamed that Imogen took out her tongue. She reached into her mouth and her tongue just came out in her hand. She wasn't alarmed... since there was another, perfectly fine tongue underneath. This kid talks a blue streak, which makes my dream a whole lot less surprising.

And while I'm at it, Jason finally stopped dreaming about work last night. When he woke up, he told me he dreamed that he and his brother burned down a house. I'll let him elaborate...

A white wine from Rioja

But how can that be, you think. Well, here is the photographic proof. You can see that we have not yet finished it, and krstn is having a glass right this instant in the bath, quiet time. This is how to drink this refreshing simple, but not simple minded, white wine: in the bath. With a dash of eucalyptus oil dribbled in, to clear your nostrils.

Enjoy!

Muga!

Domo arigato, mr. de Ibor

It's Friday night. Which means that mommy and daddy get their drink on. All I have to say is... thank you... Palacio de Ibor. You came on a little strong, but now we're getting to know your subtler charms.

Hello ooooo?

Wow. I lost my password and contact with this blog for several months, but 'MAN have I been having DREAMS. Every night, I wake up in a fog of unreal real woah what's happening man, dream world blending in with reality. And then I have to go give the baby a bottle--NO, not a wine bottle, silly. And the dream disappears into a cloud of sputtering neurons. But I digress. Wine: Palacio de Ibor, 2000. This one hits you across the head. At first, I am thinking: hey, this smells like my vermi-composter. Then, earth-filled nostrils, I fill the mouth, and hmm. This tastes like my composter. So we let it breath a bit and after a half hour...it is really quite drinkable. So our advice is: start your vermi-composter today!

My bad. Me forget wine.

Umm.... I can't remember the wine because I was preoccupied with the company.

I'm going to blame my two-months postpartum brain, because it gets the blame for everything else these days.

But, Jason remembered the Roches Neuves, and he said that it "tasted like home made wine." Which is generally not a good thing...

Hello, pink and delicious: Roches Neuves

The truth is, I have been drinking quite a lot of wine lately. But I forget how they tasted. Each one has come, been enjoyed, and then gone on its merry way.

This time, though, I got smart. I thought I'd blog a wine before drinking it. And then I'd be committed to remembering, and blogging it the next day. Let's see if it works.

Tonight: I'm going to say bon soiree to Thierry Germain's 2005 Domaine des Roches Neuves, a sexy little Samur Champigny. It's dressed up so smartly in a little pink tunic, ready to be undone. Stay tuned...

Following a pony up Groll Street

In real life, I read a blurb about Groll street, a kind of magical, cobblestoned alley in Mile End. This fed into a dream where I read that Groll St. was much longer.

I walked up Groll street and it turned into one of those hydro tower clearings, running through a forest. Ahead of me, an old man was leading a cart and pony up the clearing. I was curious about what a pony was doing in Montreal, so followed the old man towards a farm. When I got to the farm, the pony disappeared into or behind a barn. It was a kind of old fashioned farm, with children and chickens and other little creatures running around.

Then the dream morphed into some kind of shopping expedition with my mother. One-year-old Imogen was with us. We were in a kitschy Italian resto/shop, waiting for my mom to buy something. The store was cavernous and there were lots of stairs to navigate. I was cranky.

Organizing a giant garage sale

I was one of many people organizing a huge garage sale in a big old, wooden country house. My self-assigned task was to gather up all the plants and put them on a table outside. I went from room to room, gathering up plants and setting aside the ones I wanted for myself.

Eventually I took my plants downstairs to a room where Immy was playing. Then I went back upstairs and explored the rooms, which were full of old furniture and endless knickknacks. The house had an old-fashioned wraparound veranda, much like a famous, old house in Montreal that we visit once in a while.

Babies in mason jars -- pret a manger

A dream fragment: A chef had a bunch of small, newborn babies in mason jars. They were alive, but sleeping like fetuses. He was going to cook with them.

Later in the dream, he gave me a steak with sauce and I knew it was made with one of the babies. I took a bite and it tasted awful. When I told the chef, he said that he knew, that based on the steaks he just made the babies were no longer good for cooking with.