The first thing I notice is that I am inside a medium size room. The walls are covered with 1960’s style faux wood paneling and the floor is green indoor/outdoor carpeting. I pay no attention to the ceiling, but it is probably a tiled dropped ceiling, judging from the light.
Father Jon is anxious. He tells me that Father Chris has left and he is now in charge of the Church. We’ve moved the Church to this building. Father Jon is very concerned about the situation and the fact that he has inherited the head position.
I tell him not to worry, that God will take care of all things. I say just trust God, listen and obey and all will be well as I walk out the door. The building looks like a small white frame cottage that is surrounded by asphalt.
Suddenly everything changes and I find myself in bed. Only the bed is one of many beds in a row. Am I in a hospital? I don’t know. A lady in a gray dress with a white apron comes over and tells me it is time to get up and go shopping. I agree and I am whisked into a supermarket.
I look up and down the isles and find what I am looking for. I pick up a box that holds 24 cans of evaporated milk. I was told by the lady in gray to bring this back so we could use it to make ice cream. I head to the checkout. The store is strange. It is one that I do not recall being in before.
The cashier scans my purchase. I do not recall paying, because I am whisked back to the bed room. Perhaps it is a hospital ward or an infirmary. I don’t know.
Upon presenting my evaporated milk to the lady, she scolds me. “This is made with water! It clearly states this on the cans. We need the kind made from milk. Go back!”
I feel foolish. I thought all evaporated milk was made with milk. Silly me.
And then I find myself in a metropolitan city. At first I believe it is New York, but I am not certain.
There are lots of very tall buildings and lights. It is gloaming time and I find myself in a group. But I am talking to a young lady I scarcely knew from my high school day.
She was the younger sister of a friend. Her name was Lynn. She is very shy. She tells me that I promised to take her shopping. Alright! I think I only spoke with her once or twice and that was over forty years ago.
We walk along and I ask her about what she has been doing lately. I am so confused because I am sixty-one and she would be in her mid fifties, but we look young. I no longer have a beard. I am a fresh faced kid with dark combed hair and she is frightfully thin and has short red, wispy, curly hair.
She eventually overcomes her shyness and tells me all about herself, and then suddenly we find ourselves in a car driving down a country road.
I pull over to look at the map. We must be in a Bavarian town because one road that forks to the left states this is Stradivarius Road. The map guide says this is where the famous violins were made. It looks like fun, so we take a drive down the road. I am very disappointed since what left of the town is reminiscent of Covington Kentucky and nearly all the homes and shops are vacant and have foreclosure notices.
I am thinking how sad and wondering where the stain was put on the violins when I am awakened and notice it is 4:50 am. I get to sleep another hour and a half. However I can’t go back to where I had been.
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