Last night, I dreamt I was walking down the broad, curving main road that passes by my street.  I waved to my daughter’s playmates.  I laughed at the bizarre boat race in the bay.  I pushed my children to the side of the road when a snow plow came careening around the corner.  It was at that point that I probably should’ve realized my subconscious was in control.  Even though I live in New England, the weather does not shift that abruptly.

But no, I continued on down that street.  I think there may have even been a parade.  Then as easily as they do in dreams, the street morphed into another, further removed from my  home.  I passed by small businesses, restaurants whose culinary ancestors hailed from various countries.  In fact, there were two such restaurants from two apparently feuding South American countries directly across the street from each other.  I knew the origin of each cuisine from the outline of its country on the front of the restaurant, of course.  And I knew they were feuding because, well, some things are just understood in dreams.

As I passed the front porch of the restaurant closest to me, a man in an apron stepped onto it and deposited something that looked like a pizza box on one of the outdoor tables.  He was trying to sneak off the porch when another man in an apron stepped out the door.

He questioned him.  “Aren’t you from [feuding country’s restaurant]?

“Yes, I’m just taking part in the ancient tradition of the holiday truce in which we share our culinary treasures with our foes,” he said, and moved off the porch.

The second man’s face softened.  “I thought that tradition had died out,” he said.  “I’m glad to see it lives on.”

All this as I moved (apparently very slowly) past the building.  But time, like place, is also fluid in dreams.

As my husband and I (who knows where the kids had gone!) moved on to a nearby hotel’s sorely lacking continental breakfast and I melted my swizzle sticks in my cup of coffee, I thought, “What an amazing blog entry this would make!  A story of cultural divides torn down, if only for a day.  And I witnessed it firsthand!”

And then I woke up.  Is it bad to say I was disappointed when I did?  When I found out that none of that which seemed so vivid and heartfelt was real?  And that I missed out on a kick-ass blog entry?

Now, those that analyze dreams would have a field day with this one.  I walked through all these scenes without interacting.  I created hybridized cultures and foods.  I thought I’d found the answer to many of the world’s problems.  I lost my kids.  And thought melting plastic into my morning drink was a good idea (not to mention I don’t even drink coffee).

But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d have the following to say:

• I stayed up way too late blogging because I was so psyched about my new-found versatility; said staying up late caused restless and insufficient sleep
• Cause of staying up late meant I had blogging on my mind
• I dreamt of coffee because I knew once I woke up I’d be dragging; I screwed up the coffee because my subconscious knew I wouldn’t like it
• I saved my kids because I’m always afraid I won’t be able to some time in real life
• I dreamt of varied foods because I’m always looking for something new and delicious; and because I’m apparently in denial about this blog not being about food.
• Holiday traditions?  Thinking of the true meaning of what we hold dear after Easter’s recent celebrations?
• And I’ve always wanted world peace – even if it’s one restaurant at a time.  What can I say, I’m a sucker.