I woke up a bit ago from a strange dream. I was finally getting to visit a long time bloggy friend who has been in very ill health in recent years (don't get too excited, Emily. This one wasn't about you this time.) 😜
I sat in her warm farmhouse kitchen talking about life and getting caught up. When her daughters arrived, she announced we'd be having a special dessert to celebrate my visit. It was an old and treasured family recipe and I was to have the honour of making it.
Oh! OK. So this IS an anxiety dream, just with a pleasant plot. Thanks, subconscious.
I was directed to an overstuffed recipe box and pulled out a yellowed newspaper article. It was a reprint of a complex ice cream concoction from a noted and frequent contributor, Kas's great aunt. It was also her obituary. In addition to the recipe and acknowledgement of this great aunt's many submissions over the years, it also mentioned this aunt (I wish I could remember her name...it was something old fashioned and pretty like Magnolia) was survived by a daughter.
To forestall the inevitable cooking fiasco, I asked if this daughter the obit mentioned was still alive. They all glanced at each other and Kas said "Why don't we take a ride over there and see?"
I hopped into the oldest daughter's car and we sped into town. Eventually, we stopped in front of a vacant lot. "Aww, they finally tore it down..." Suddenly the dream starts to feel familiar. Have I had this one before? OMG, did I blog about it?? In front of me I finally notice a young woman in a dated dress. "Oh! Hi? Are you..." (I wish I remembered her name too...it was something less pretty like Gertrude.) I had a short conversation with her where I figured out she was a ghost and had been murdered by her Beau.
Huh. That was depressing. We returned to the farm and got started on that dessert. Thankfully, Kas had done the hardest part of it - a fried dough bowl coated in cinnamon sugar. Good foundation! In the bottom of the bowl the recipe called for chopped broccoli and shredded cheese. Um. What?! On top of that was 4 scoops of 4 different kinds of ice cream.
The general chatting had continued as I reluctantly added broccoli and cheese to those unfortunate bowls. The oldest daughter was telling her mom that I'd actually SPOKEN to someone at the lot where their relative's house used to be. Wait. You couldn't see her? She was right in front of us!
Nope. I was the only one who saw the ghost and oh, by the way, it was an unsolved family mystery who had killed her. No one suspected the loving and grief- struck boyfriend. Kas knew I'd seen ghosts before and was hoping I'd see something at that lot where she died. They hadn't said anything because they knew if I had any inkling, my anxiety would have closed me down. I have to happen in on these encounters in an open and welcoming mood.
OK then. Happy to help. I eyed the raw chopped broccoli and unmelted cheese and decided it should be warmed up. Kas directed me to a strange bottle of cooking oil to coat the cookie tray I was going to use. Fast forward through the dull cooking bit to where we all sit down to enjoy this mountainous ice cream concoction and... "Eww! It tastes like bad fish!"
Oh no! The oil must be rancid!
Then I woke up.