Endigar 170

I had a dream with my now deceased Mother in it.  We were traveling north, it was mountainous terrain, like in Tennessee.  There were cell phones scattered below rocky escarpments along the road.  I assumed people had dropped them walking around atop, and would just discard them.  I seemed to feel very good about myself.

Back in the neighborhood Mom, Dad, and I were visiting there were a couple of individuals who had come to see me.  Pete Ross, dark haired and wearing a blue and white racing jacket, like the motorcycle racers wear.  And an artist that came to my Mother’s art studio when we lived in Centreville.  His name was Dusty Rhodes (looks nothing like the wrestler). 

I never got a chance to talk to either one of them.  I felt like I needed to prepare myself first.  Mom wouldn’t tell me why they had come.

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