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The Fabric of Dreams
Dec. 23rd, 2007 07:23 pmI am at the fabric store, looking for fabric suitable for me to make a nice tie. I ask the guy at the cash if it's possible for me to take a look at the odds and ends they keep "in the back". He hesitates: though he knows me and trusts me, the door to the area must be kept locked if someone from the store isn't available to watch it, and he can't spare the time away from the cash to do that. What he can do, if I'm willing, is to let me in to the area and then lock the door behind me; he will let me out again later. I thank him for his kindness, and that's what we do.
The back area is a high-ceilinged warehouse space, unfinished. All around me are shelves, with bolts and rolls of fabric, and piles of folded cloth pieces.
Quickly, I find a piece of a beautiful iridescent brocade, perfect for what I need for my tie: on one side, a pattern of large fleurs-de-lis, peacock-tail-coloured shimmering green-blue-purple against a blue-purple-blue background. On the other side, though, the pattern is stark white fleurs-de-lis against bright royal blue, like the Quebec flag, and this would be a garish contrast with my suit. And the problem of how to fold and sew the fabric so that only the "good" side would show is complex enough that, thinking it through, I awaken.
But as I lie in my bed half-asleep, half-awake, it occurs to me that I have left a great mystery for the people who remained behind in my dream, particularly the nice fellow at the store: How could I have vanished from that locked room?
The back area is a high-ceilinged warehouse space, unfinished. All around me are shelves, with bolts and rolls of fabric, and piles of folded cloth pieces.
Quickly, I find a piece of a beautiful iridescent brocade, perfect for what I need for my tie: on one side, a pattern of large fleurs-de-lis, peacock-tail-coloured shimmering green-blue-purple against a blue-purple-blue background. On the other side, though, the pattern is stark white fleurs-de-lis against bright royal blue, like the Quebec flag, and this would be a garish contrast with my suit. And the problem of how to fold and sew the fabric so that only the "good" side would show is complex enough that, thinking it through, I awaken.
But as I lie in my bed half-asleep, half-awake, it occurs to me that I have left a great mystery for the people who remained behind in my dream, particularly the nice fellow at the store: How could I have vanished from that locked room?
