Dream or Memory

Is there such a thing as a novel written as a vocabulary builder for adults? I dreamed about such a thing last night, but this morning it felt like a real life memory. This book used "big" or arcane words. And in the back, much like "A Clockwork Orange", there is a dictionary, but it includes every word in the book. (Then you don't have to wonder was "is" is!)

I would imagine this to be a very cumbersome book, unless it was a novella and it used small type, esp. for the dictionary part. On the other hand, I wonder how many different words a novel normally would use and what could you bump it up to if the object was to increase vocabulary?

I don't usually remember my dreams . . .

But lately they've been sticking around for the morning's first light.

I was in a large Victorian house and there were lots of people around. They were celebrating the death of a man they believe to be a modern day Christ, he had been a junkie and overdosed. There was a sub-level feeling of evil in the house, but the visual felt like a 1960's sitcom, complete with a laugh track. People were talking and I was arraigning flowers with kalmn. I think we had roamed the neighborhood "liberating" them from front yards. They were big, beautiful blooms. And there was lots of food. We were laughing along with everyone else as people told funny stories about the junkie. It felt like an Irish wake, but a cleaned up version for 60's prime time TV.

And then I woke up. I don't usually dream with real life people in them. I meet kalmn for the first time last year at a con, so I can verify she is real. ;-)

Gilly

Gilly with ribbons 1
Originally uploaded by Gillygrrrl.

She loves going to the groomers, but I'm not sure she likes coming home all femmie!

Mulberries

When I was child, we had a big, mulberry tree in our backyard. I loved those berries. I couldn't wait for them to turn dark, dark purple. Sometimes I'd try to eat them when they we only red, and had to spit them out for their sourness.

It was very labor intensive picking the soft berries by hand. One year I had a very bright idea; I needed to spread some material under the tree and then shake the branches to release the berries. Good idea; bad execution. I chose one of my mothers' white sheets for the cloth. The day was hot and the berries were very, very ripe. And, like most berries, they stained. My mother was not happy with the very artsy purple dyed sheet I presented her with that day.

Over the years, washing and bleach faded the splashes of purple. My mother's re-telling of that story never faded.

This memory was triggered by the bowl of blackberries I ate this morning. They may not be as sweet as my memory of the mulberries, but when I added milk and a little sugar - mmmm, it took me back.