Tag Archives: driving

I Had A Dream Last Night: 2nd Look Saturday

I was looking for this post while working on one for tomorrow. A little more than four years ago, I lost a very dear friend in a very sad way. His death left a hole in my heart. I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I feel like he’s with me. It comes on unexpectedly, and often in dreams.

Last Night
Originally published October 24, 2006

Last night I dreamed of Glenn. The best part about it was that it wasn’t a sad or bad dream at all. I was getting into a car, not my own, and Glenn was driving. We were going to visit some friends of ours in NY, and I needed to call them, but my cell phone battery needed recharging. He offered me his phone, and I said to him, “No offense, Glennie, but you don’t really need a cell phone. After all, you’re dead.” He just laughed, and told me to call our friend. We talked idly in the car – I don’t remember all of it, but I woke feeling really happy, like I’d been hugged.

Later, while I was brushing my teeth, I remembered sitting up in bed when my first alarm went off, and saying, “Thanks for coming to see me,” before falling back to sleep.

Perhaps it’s the strain of Celt in my blood that makes me believe in the fire festivals more than a little. After all, we’re about a week from Samhain, when the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest…

2nd Look Saturday Button

The Car Chasing Moose of Granville Gulch

In the fall of 1995 I was a freshman at Middlebury, and my aunt and uncle lived about an hour away in scenic Waitsfield, VT. They were very good to me when I was in college; feeding me occasionally, coming over the Gap to see my performances whenever they could, generally being supportive and cool at every opportunity.

The first time I drove over the Gap to visit them, they fed me a lovely dinner, and we visited for a while before I had to drive back to campus. It was dark when I headed south on Route 100, moonlit clouds floating across a starlit sky, a low mist hovering in the deep vee of the valley. It was the kind of night you read about in books.

Just south of town the mountains rise up on both sides of the road, the Green Mountain National Forest looms inky and silent, and the pavement winds like a ribbon through Granville Gulch. On the night in question, I was cruising along at about 45 mph when I heard a cloppity-cloppity-cloppity sound coming up from behind me. I swung my head around, my heart racing, and looked out of my driver’s side window into the misty darkness.

Into the heaving bosom of a galloping bull moose.

He cloppity-clopped alongside my Subaru for no more than three heartbeats–heartbeats which thudded in my ears while I prayed I could keep my car out of his path–before veering back off to the left, and disappearing into the mist.

It was a long time before I let go my white-knuckle grip on the wheel. My ancient, rusty Subaru would have been no match for him, had we collided. I wouldn’t be here today to blog about it.

The next night, I phoned home to tell my Dad about my moose. He’s a native, if displaced, Vermonter, and has, for many years, traveled a sales route up and down that very route. He said, “Oh, I’ve heard about him. Likes to chase cars.”

Likes. To. Chase. Cars.

I drove that road with reverent caution over the next four years.

A few years ago, I asked my Dad, who still travels that sales route, if there had been any recent sightings of my moose. He said no one’s seen him in a few seasons. I like to think he met a nice cow, had a few calves and retired to a meadow somewhere in the National Forest. But if you’re driving through Granville Gulch on a dark misty night, keep your ears open for the cloppity-clop.