I was lying in a bedroom where all the furniture had an old fashioned rustic wooden quality, and the bed had an old handmade quilt. I did not recognize this bedroom as anything I've been in. There was a radio playing an NPR-like talk show but there was a bad cock 'n roll hairfarmer song on the radio, probably being used for a reason as bumper music between segments. Then Bill comes into the bedroom, and I'm so embarrassed to have this song on, worried that he'll think I'm listening to the song because I like it. I forgot where this dream fits into the following dream, pre-, middle, or post-:

I was at my parent's house and my dad was talking to us about places (locally) to drive to. Then I had to use the bathroom while they were talking to me, but the bathroom was distinctly like my own in the hallway near our bedroom, but it was also like my parent's hallway...go figure. Anyway, Stan and I take off and are driving up around Bellevue, but the terrain isn't like it is IRL at all. It is very hilly like Wisconsin or Iowa, but not mountainous like Colorado. It is also very flooded, and reminds me of the reoccurring dream where we drive to the mountains and it's cold and we get out and walk around an area with ponds and frogs and it turns warm. The road is hilly and where there's a hill, there's water rolling down the hill like a waterfall. I cannot believe the car has any traction in this, and eventually we end up parking in this big flooded pond. Stan got out, but I couldn't even push my door open because the water came up so high, so I stayed in the car. I don't know what Stan was doing...taking pictures perhaps. We parked right next to a small old frame house that looked like a boutiquey remodelling job of a genuinely old historic homestead. Then a woman who was maybe in her 50s-60s but very wrinkly came out and told us there was nothing for us here. She had brunette hair that was teased up in a bun sort of Gunsmoke Old West TV style. I think she wore a long dress with a shawl. She was adamant that we leave. But I think we went into another building instead. It was old and rustic and I was on the second floor, but the only way to get down was to climb a ladder made of tree branches. I was scared I would lose my footing. There was a man there who looked like an Eastern Orthodox monk with a long black robe and long beard...like Rasputin, except he spoke with a very regular American voice. He was helping me descend the ladder.

Labels: Dreams