the methods and means of procrastination

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So, this was my dream:

Paul and I were looking at houses. Or least on some kind of house tour given for a community that was on a beach. Their were 4 or 5 sites along this one beach that we were looking at before the owners came back in the late afternoon. I remember we were trying to finish before the ships came in. There was some kind of race or boat day going on. It was really sunny. The house I remember the most was a weatherbeaten victorian - 4 or 5 stories total that sat close to the beach. I don't remember much other than the top floors. The top floor (sans the attic) had a bedroom, a sitting room a monsterous hall/room that the stairs lead off of, and then like a man's dressing room. the rooms were decorated elaborately. The hall was pretty bar (naked wood for the most part, weathered gray) The sitting room was the exception. It was small (nestled between the bedroom and a storage eave) and of the same kind of weathered wood as the hall way. I don't remember the furnture much, other than there were chairs and it was gray. This is because the first thing you noticed was the window. It looked out onto the sea/sky and it had a piece of stain glass art hanging in it. It had white, clear, blue and green glass in it and it was a stylized image of a wave. It was very vibrant. It hung on a chain and swong slightly in the breeze.
The other thing I remember about the house was the attic. The owner, who ever they were had turned the attic/patio deck into a big storage area for drying flowers. There were tables upon tables of flowers drying in vases. organized by flower. I distinctly remember walking by a table of nothing by baby's breath. This part was sheltered in the attic. Out on the deck you could see town, the beach, and the sea. It faced the street though, it wasn't a deck that faced the ocean. By the time we were on the roof, the owner had come back and was descretely doing things around the house, mainly to encourage people to move on from the house tour. The owner came up to the attic/deck and did stuff in the attic. As we were turning to go, we noticed the weather was starting to pick up. a storm was coming. The owner, a fair-skined african american woman - a bit on the heavy side but healthy looking and vibrant (with glasses and hair held back in braids) flapped a quilt out over the edge of the deck, onto the shingles of the roof. It was a denim quilt with a green border, and a denim binding. She says to me as the wind is blowing - If I'm to keep it, it will stay. And then laughs as the wind and the spray pick up the quilt and whip it from the roof. The rain begins to fall as the weather breaks.

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