"I would not like nights so bright you could not see the stars." -- Akira Kurosawa

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Atlanta
I grew up in a family of Southern storytellers. Back in 2004, I started Whole Bean to continue the tradition in a new medium. Over the years, I've written about families and friends, peculiar situations, extended road trips, recalcitrant home appliances, and many things for which I'm truly grateful. I hope you enjoy your time here.
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Another dream of the Charlotte house. This must be about the tenth that I've had. Background: In 1993, we were transferred to Charlotte, North Carolina, where we built a new house (almost exactly) to our specifications. We had lived in the house for only 17 months when the news came that our company had been bought by an Atlanta firm, and by the end of that summer, we had moved back to Atlanta.

In many dreams, I have seen the house in different permutations, but generally there is a theme: the house has two distinct sides, and we have only lived in one of them. Last night's dream was no exception -- I ventured down a hallway and found a whole other side of the house that we had forgotten even existed. Three kitchens, and a group of refugee children living in one big upstairs room on "the other side". Who knows what it means?


Something is wrong with my chair. Our suburban Federated facility is quite nice -- good access to major arteries, a respectable selection of restaurants, and three Starbucks locations within one mile. Nevertheless, my ergonomically designed desk chair has recently taken a turn for the worse.

I first noticed it several months ago, when I returned to my desk after a coffee stop and found (when I sat down) that the chair had descended several inches from the position it had held when I left it some three minutes before. Since that time, I have observed the chair's aberrant behavior on at least ten occasions. It has no predisposition as to time of day -- it has happened at 9:30 AM and at 5:30 PM, Mondays through Fridays, and even a few Saturdays.

But perhaps the root cause is deeper. A few nights ago, I was sitting at one of our admittedly dilapidated kitchen chairs catching up with my mail when the entire thing came crashing to pieces, leaving me sitting on my tailbone on the floor, the natural gas bill still in my hand. And this after I spent all last winter on Weight Watchers, eventually reaching my ideal body mass index of 22.9, where I still am, by the way. (I know what you were thinking.)

Not more than fifteen minutes ago, my desk chair again descended spotaneously. But you know something? I ain't worrying. We haven't lost power today, my feet are not sitting in water, and I plan to eat barbecue for dinner regardless. It's all good.


The dream occurred one night last week. It seems that I was engaged in piloting a small hot air balloon over different parts of the United States, jumping from city to city at will. I recall vividly that the balloon was a small portable craft that could be folded up and transported easily from place to place, even carried in a backpack. The dream sounds odd, indeed, but it was actually quite pleasurable.

On one of my stops, I flew over what was supposed to be Memphis but actually looked more like Atlanta. As with many of my dreams, a sizeable group of friends was on hand, and we all were camped out at a large timberframe lodge somewhere on the outskirts of town. Of course, the group of friends was comprised of people who I know have never met one another, but that made it all the more interesting.

I know from whence this dream stems. I have not traveled much lately, and being for the most part a person who likes being on the road, I think I am feeling a degree of frustration at being in one place for such a long time. Interesting how the mind makes up for what is not happening in real life!