in my dream, I was doing an impromptu concert with George Clinton, in front of a mixed audience of adults having dinner (a sort of club atmosphere) and high school students who’d bussed in for the show. Mr. Clinton (now, awake, it seems rude to call him George) was sitting at a piano, and I was singing and occasionally doing my pseudo-harmonica trick with my mic.
We didn’t have a set list, so we were winging it, doing two-man renditions of Flashlight (normal) and Simon and Garfunkel’s (in my dream) version of Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” (When we finished doing the first, second, and last stanzas, I looked out at the crowd of high school students puzzledly and asked if there weren’t a fourth verse; they chorused “No.” So much for my unconcious powers of recall.)
One of the kids asked George Clinton if he knew some contempory musician – 50 Cent, maybe – and I talked for a bit about how even when one is a career musician like GC, one can know music, and simply not be able to keep up with all the musicians. George concurred, and I did a solo piece in my harmonica stylings while he mused on what we’d play next.
Then the teacher/chaperones who’d brought the kids started serving trays of cut-up apples and caramel dipping sauce, and NPR was playing to wake Kate up to go to work this morning, and I was awake, grinning in the dark about sharing a stage with George effing CLINTON!
After describing my dream to her, Kate concurred: I rule.
Now she’s showering before leaving, and I’m wondering how a whole week of 6 hours of sleep per night is going to get me to drive up to Boston safely, tonight, to see my grandmother on Sunday. Time to head back to bed for a couple of hours.
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.
Everybody’s got a little light under the sun (under the sun/ under the sun/ under the sun)