Wednesday, February 17, 2010


The dark towers of the Scottish Rites Temple rise ominously against the coming day, like Camelot at dawn. I wander unseen through the awakening camp. The great war horses stamp their bloody hooves while children polish the battered armor of the knights. Where is the king? I see Arthur kneeling in the snow. Does he pray? Nay! He weeps.
Several nights ago I dreamed that a terrible rumor had ruined my reputation. Myrna had remained my stalwart friend. It was she who discovered the source of the vicious verbal campaign of slander. When I confronted Margo she denied being the author of such lies. Then she smiled a greasy grimace and pointed behind me. But as I turned my eyes opened and I was awake.
Last night I dreamed I was working in a hospital. I was full of the idealistic zeal and enthusiastic energy of youth. I had arrived for duty to find old friends Rachel C and Bernice H in alarm. They took my hands and pulled me through the busy corridors to Central Supply Service. The door was open and a young man in white was removing things and filling a cart. "Stop!" I shouted. He barely glanced at me and continued his assault on what seemed to be my domain. Rachel and Bernie stared in helpless dismay. The man pushed the cart out of the room, down the hall and to his office. Rachel and Bernie began restoring order to the shambled room. I followed him protesting all the way. When we reached his domain he turned toward me with great anger, pulled himself to his full height and glared down at me. "I'm a doctor," he snarled. "I save lives. What do you do?" Clearly he held me in total contempt. I admit I was confused by his behavior. "I take directions," I replied. But he was looking beyond me now. His face softened, his eyes grew warm, his smile angelic. I turned to see a young fair-haired woman. She was not looking at him but at me. "I am doctor's wife. I'll speak to him," she promised.

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