I’m invited to a huge wedding party — the catch is that it’s one of Donald Trump’s kids.
It’s at this expansive palladium/neoclassical sports grounds (not soon after, I witness it being torn up and redeveloped). Decorations are sparse and modern, and Lynae and I play music on these white plastic devices made available… the volume down is hard to control (using shift+F6). I notice Meredith walk in arm-and-arm with another former partner of mine, and realize they’ll eventually realize they have me in common (she turns and glances back at me for just a second). There’s also a bin full of elaborate foreign hats (I have the thought “this is what our wedding would have had). Donald gives a toast and I enjoy it the same way I enjoy my father-in-law, knowing that our politics differ greatly but appreciating him as my family.
The celebration winds down, I head north to explore some tangled dry woods (this dream turns into a city-planning dream, the industrial and residential areas angled diagonal to each other, joined by a single thick link road, arguing in favor of adding more links). I view a flyover of thin multi-story houses (the opposite of the bungalow in Ojai that I’m visiting).
Afterward, somewhere near the wedding grounds, Lynae and I are talking and realize we left some important item under the table. Returning, we fruitlessly search. We ask a large hairy bearded guy who seems friendly if he knows where else to look — by way of answer, he and two other guys perform a song-and-dance bit about how reasonably long certain things might be held for lost-and-found. As our item (maybe a bag) is much less important than a dog (48 hours) there’s not much chance for it. At least I got an entertaining soliloquy from my subconscious regarding expiration dates on “lost” things.
Oh yeah, Lynae got scared because she thought I was a monster shape-shifter (one with little white ropes for a body) and I decided to play along for a while until she came up with a reason to believe I wasn’t. It was easier that way, but I must admit to a certain sinister enjoyment of a well-received villain act. Maybe that happened because I was still waiting for a response from earlier in the dream, where I was out-of-communication with Christina, and Lynae said she would one-on-one to resolve the problem. That… makes me long for the long-lost girl again, not unusual. I suspect her presence is a big reason why the dream was important enough to write down (in the summer heat and flies of Ojai valley, sticky and rough).
“There are those that are lost to us forever.”
–from a dream in 8th grade