08 March 2011

I Dreamed of Cookies and Warriors

We've all had bizarre dreams, and this is one that has stuck with me vividly since I had it more than a decade ago.

The dream began aboard a submarine.  I was in the company of one of my friends, and we were searching for another friend.  The sub was dark, and we didn't really encounter anyone in the corridors.  Before long, we had found our way into the galley.  It was all stainless steel, and had an island counter in the middle of the floor.  Above the table was a hanging display full of utensils (spatulas, serving spoons, whisks, etc.).  I was struck by how brightly lit the galley was, relative to the rest of the sub.

Mrs. Garrett takes a dim view of
people shooting up her kitchen.
Following us into the galley was Mrs. Garrett from The Facts of Life.  I'm certain it was the character, Mrs. Garrett, and not the actress Charlotte Rea because she identified herself to us as she strode past us to pull out a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies from the oven.  Mrs. Garrett (who addressed in her sing-song voice, "boo-oys") offered us some of them and we decided that our friend could wait a few more minutes.  They were, after all, right out of the oven.  And anyway, how often does Mrs. Garrett offer you cookies?

While we were eating the cookies (only in a dream can you eat a cookie right out of the oven without burning yourself), Todd Bridges burst into the room, being pursued by seamen armed with submachine guns.  I don't know what protocol allows for someone to open fire with something like that aboard a submarine, but apparently Todd Bridges warranted it because they began firing the moment they got to the door.

Mrs. Garrett seized the cookie sheet and leaped into action, dashing past the cowering Todd Bridges and swinging the cookie sheet across the outstretched weapons.  Todd pointed us to a door and the three of us made a run for it while Mrs. Garrett fended off the obviously incensed crew.  We entered a room with an inflatable raft, and Todd insisted we make a break for it while we could.  He let us know he couldn't accompany us, but that we needed to go immediately.  We hit a button that inflated the raft and we climbed into it.  An airlock opened and we floated out of the submarine.

I don't recall seats, but the one in my dream could fly so nyah.
We broke water, and kept floating until we were soaring among the clouds.  How we navigated, I can no longer recall.  Anyway, before long we came under fire again--this time from a World War I-era biplane.  I can't say now what color it was, but I'm wanting to say it was red.  Our raft took a direct hit and we began to crash.

We fell toward a city, landing in a back alley near a dumpster.  As I recall, it was actually a very soft landing; the raft hadn't had time to completely deflate before impact.  We sneaked toward the dumpster, using it for cover as we conducted surveillance of the city.  There came the sound of a group of people marching and chanting, like the guards of the Wicked Witch of the West's castle.  Imagine our surprise when the group came into view and they turned out to be Aztec warriors!  How I recognized them as Aztecs, I cannot say, nor can I say that even now I would know how to distinguish them from Incas, Mayans or even a group of Hispanic trick-or-treaters.

Aztec warriors, shown in a textile artifact preserved by
the Chicago Field Museum.
Somewhere near the marching Aztecs was our friend.  Was he a captive, was he with them willingly or perhaps even leading them?  Again, my memory fails me.  In fact, all I know for certain now is that our reunion is the last of the dream that I could ever recall.  Perhaps it was the end of the dream altogether.

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