Turkey dreams

I dreamed I was pounding turkey meat in the kitchen for dinner, standing at the counter with a wooden mallet in my hand. I was preparing tender turkey breast layered with herbs, sauce and cheese. I imagined the flavor, delicate and savory, and my mouth watered. I dreamed I was banging the meat with loud thumps and it was flattening out nicely. Wham, wham, wham! I was preparing a feast for many friends who would be arriving with expectant appetites, good humor, beautiful clothes worn in a casually chic way. They would be bringing bottles of delicious wines, stories of good times through the past season. Bon Appetit magazine editors would ask me for my recipes and wish to photograph the savory poultry I was creating. Wham, wham, wham!

The pounding was very loud and it sounded like someone knocking on my door.

I realized someone was knocking on my door, but...it couldn't be. No one I know knocks like that on my door. Wham, wham, wham! I floated up to awareness and realized I had been sprawled on the couch in deep sleep, imagining dinner. The unreality of loud turkey pounding traded places with the reality of a heavy hand knocking on my door. I wanted to dream of fixing dinner more than I wanted to see who was pounding on my door. The curiosity replaced the happiness of a dream well encountered, so I went to see who was intruding into my unconscious so vigorously.

A solicitor. "How are you tonight?"

"I'm asleep."

She wasn't very sorry for evaporating my dream. I was a little put out at that. I would have been satisfied with some regret and apology, maybe some sympathy and an offer to return at a better time. She just wanted my money. She expected me to sympathize with her. Me with her! She had banged on my door at dinner time and wanted me to feel for her, empathize with her predicament, develop actual happiness that she had come to my door and separated me from my dream world, a dream world that involved delicious turkey, herbs, sauce, all kinds of intertwining flavors and satisfying texture, tantalizing aroma, sensuality, all the memories of eating fine savory poultry with good friends, laughter around the table, wine splashing in slow motion into beautiful tall glasses, enormous bouquets of flowers on linen-covered tables and the clink of fine silver on bone china.

My mind wandered away and found itself considering options for dinner, the offerings at the local theater, my conversation with a colleague at work a few days ago. Then, it wandered sleepily back to the feast I was preparing in the dimming, retreating dream. My wandering mind peeked hopefully into the dream world, hoping to rejoin it, but now the scene was gone like a little puff of mist.

The solicitor was earnestly asking for money for her cause. I had missed the parts in between that had explained about the cause, but now I was being asked to give her money to help fund it. She was gathering a head of steam, by the look in her eye.

I was standing there with my eyes half closed, my hair sticking up all over, my clothes on sideways, thinking of making pounded turkey breast, wishing I had cranberries and more sleep, and she was asking for money for her cause. I sighed. I leaned on the door frame. I imagined myself starving to death, pitiful, unable to survive unless I had my last meal of turkey, my dear friends gathered around me, saddened to see me wasting away so pitiably. All for the lack of a satisfying last meal. I visualized the poverty of it all, hoped it would be visible all over my face and hoped the woman at the door would realize finally that she was depriving me of a truly fine culinary experience, possibly my last. I hoped she would hand me her money, speak words of remorse and sorrow, walk away.

She finished and stood expectantly, waiting for me to hand her money, sign her petition, applaud her courage for joining the political fray. I leaned ever more alarmingly on the door frame doing my best to look tired, interrupted, dream deprived, starved for a good turkey dinner. A clock ticked somewhere. Einstein explained relativity as the clock ticked. My mind wandered off again, this time to Einstein's hair, his intelligence, his dismay at contributing to nuclear weaponry. I stopped short then, feeling lost and alone in the world having wandered so far from dreaming of a fine meal well prepared. Returning to turkey, herbs and tantalizing aromas I felt some sense of resignation. My mind wailed sadly, knowing the dream was really now just a dim memory.

The solicitor cleared her throat expectantly. I began to see this solicitor meant business and was not impressed with my sad disheveled state of deprivation and certainly was not going to budge without a really good explanation for dismissing her cause. I considered asking her to re-explain the cause and its needs. I tried to focus intelligently but, truth be told, I failed pretty soundly. This was feeling a lot like having to stand up in front of the third-grade class with Mrs. Belleman waiting to hear my book report. "I didn't read the book. My dog ate it."

All my upbringing and all my internal conflicts began to swirl up like an enshrouding fog. Could I just say no and shut the door? Some people can actually do that. I knew I would feel rude and mean spirited if I did. Could I tell her to come back later? I really didn't want to ever see her again. I'd have to go through all of this again or go to great lengths to avoid her or invent a wild excuse to explain...what? I didn't know what the cause was I didn't want to join or pay for. The solicitor looked at me. She tilted her head slightly and began to look a bit sad and crestfallen. Now I was in trouble. She was winning the sad-look contest. She was more determined than I was. I knew I would have fared better if she had come when I was more alert, but, no, I had been dreaming a wonderful satisfying dinner into existence in the middle of deep sleep. Damn.

I don't think I ever really did look sad. I was just a rumpled woman with her clothes on sideways who wanted to pound the snarf out of some dinner meat and was now having a hot flash. I think I looked like a sucker who had no idea how to get rid of a professional solicitor who had banged on the door. Good Lord, all right. I relented and handed her my last $10 and said I was broke, couldn't contribute more, wished her luck and she went away. Just like that. She took my money, ruined my turkey dinner reverie and won the sad, poor-poor-pitiful-me drama.

I'm going to get a No Solicitors sign for the door, gonna have that turkey dinner and invite everyone over to share it with me. Maybe in the Fall when turkey dinners are a better idea than in the middle of summer. You can come on over and share it with me, but please don't tell me about your urgent causes because I just gave out my last $10 and my mouth is really watering for some fine food. And boy do I need some sleep.