All I can remember of my dream this morning is sun-washed sheets billowing in the wind on a clothesline; a very sheer, gathered square was also drying on the line. A voice said "sheets washed again and again until the sun bleached them snowy white" and "gossamer so fine the spiders are envious."

That's better than yesterday's, where I was negotiating some sort of trade agreement with a tribe somewhere remote on behalf of my grandmother. She flew out to close the deal, and I was supposed to go back with her but had to wait for the next airplane. While I was waiting, the local bigwig in charge of the airport chased me through the crumbling ruins. I ran through courtyards and rooms of brown stone.

Last night I had the strangest dream. I sailed away to China, in a little rowboat to find ya, And you said you had to get your laundry clean...