A Dream

I dreamt that I took Lisa to a breakfast function at St. Adalbert's, my childhood parish. We parked on the 20th St side of the church building, in angled parking along the church itself - and nevermind that it was obviously nighttime (despite being breakfast) and that there is no such parking in real life, nor even room for it, on that side of the building. 

Inside was a bright, L-shaped room, with the vertical half of the L nearest the entrance, and set up for the buffet line, with seating along the bottom of the L. 

I got in line. Midway through the buffet was a stack of papers and pencils, and for reasons unknown you had to stop and write your name on a scrap of paper. I noticed the name that was being written by the man behind me. It was the name of my Godfather, but when I turned to greet him it was the face of Ted Turner, the old owner of CNN and the Atlanta Braves. But it *was* my Godfather, in name and personality. 

He offered me a job, a good one. I wondered, even in the dream, why he would wait nearly half a century to try and help me. 

Then I was seated a long table in the room,  Lisa and the family around me. 

There was a dramatic jump cut and I was somewhere else, home maybe, and my wallet had fallen out and I was missing all my credit cards and my driver's license. 

I knew, even in the dream, that this part of it was a dream, and moreover that it was the rare bit that could be tied directly to real-life concerns; before bed I had noticed that my wallet had fallen out of my jeans, and found and replaced it in its pocket. 

There was more, but the rest is lost in a haze.