Saturday night, I dreamt I met a man who was a French chef (he was actually a chef, from France, not just a chef of French food. Why I remember this distinction from the dream, I can not say). He was writing a cookbook and introduced me to his editor while we were standing in the foyer of his restaurant. After names were exchanged (although I don’t actually remember any names), I said to the editor, “I want to write a book about potlucks.” He flapped his hand at me dismissively, “Everyone wants to write a book.” Not at all defensively, but just to clarify I stated, “No, I’ve actually been working on it.” His facial expression changed, “When you have 100 pages, send it to me.” With that he walked out the door, and the left dream me excited and in a tizzy. Of course then I woke up. I guess I need to get cracking on that book, so that I can meet the French chef and get introduced to his editor.

*I know I promised a good story for today, but I’ve been fighting a cold and haven’t had the energy to tap my brain for anything creative. Instead of I’ve been reading Nora Roberts novels (formulaic, yet entertaining), solving Sudoku puzzles (I’m totally hooked) and talking to my mom on the phone. Tonight I called (for the fourth time today) just as the three of them were sitting down to dinner, and my sister yelled loud enough so that I could hear that it really was a family dinner, now that I was on the phone. I miss them.

I’m off, to nurse my cold. Wish me perfect health.