I've been dreaming a lot lately about my old home in
Rhode Island and my
parents. Last night I dreamed that
Manhattan had turned into one big
beach. Each of the streets and avenues was still there but where the actual blocks were was now sand and sparkling dark
water - in fact, it looked remarkably like several beaches (the old Matunuck, Scarborough and Sandhill Cove, in particular) I'd frequented as a small child.
It was
hot and the sun was bright. Apparently, there was some sort of school
kite contest going on, and my friend Farin (who, when I'm awake, is three years younger than me and in
yeshiva) and I were being driven around by my dad in his old gold
Subaru wagon, looking for our classmates. Finally, we saw them, but we had to park several blocks away under a
boardwalk that must have been fifty feet off the ground. I was excited beyond belief.
Then I woke up and realized I hate the beach, it's
winter, and there really isn't anywhere to
swim just off 42nd Street.