Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that wishes it could remember its dreams. When we’re all tucked in at night, we know we’re about to visit sleepyland when the strange thoughts start entering our minds. Last night, we imagined our family was part of the Norwegian mafia. Silly String replaced the hit men’s guns, and each shot was as deadly as the seven shots of espresso we used to drink before coming to Summit Up HQ when we worked at a coffee shop. Then, just as the entire Viking conspiracy is about to be uncovered … nothing. We’re asleep. There are no more interesting thoughts. Our subconscious genealogical discoveries come to a screeching halt, and we are simply in a dead sleep. That is, a dead sleep with no hope of an ethereal afterlife. The door to our subconscious remains locked, all of our unrealized ideas pent up in sleep’s prison cell. We hope that there is more to our souls than the vast void of nothingness that only brings a feeling of refreshment in our waking morning moments.So, we’re left with the solemn practice of chasing the dream. We’ve been told we’re “living the dream” by moving to Summit County, we’ve been called a “dreamer” in a derogatory tone, and we’ve seen a lot of dreamy-looking California surfers in our day. But because we can’t remember our slumbering genius, we’ll work to shed those pre-packaged labels and focus on our vision – freedom from fear and access to the deep well of creativity.For now, we’ll go with this Yiddish proverb: “If you want your dreams to come true, don’t sleep.”***In the awake part of our free time, we’ve been learning to play the guitar. We don’t wake up with Jimmy Page symphonies in our heads because of dream impairment, but we’re still pretty happy with the results. The cacophony of our daily life can be effectively drowned out by a short session with our lovely ax. We’d like to thank the inventor of the guitar for not making the instrument sound like a mating cat. We’d confer wings and a halo, but the guitar inventor probably already has those because we’re sure he or she has already climbed the stairway to heaven. Back to the mating cats – We’ve been there, not with the mating cats but in elementary school band class. In fourth grade we tried to pick up the cello. We were hesitant to try another stringed instrument – fifth grade was flute and sixth was french horn – but we figured we may have a little more finesse in our advanced age to try out another strings-and-wood noisemaker. It turns out we don’t, but the guitar is inherently melodious and we are grateful for the pleasant sound of simple strumming. ***Right now we’re working on a little ditty for the mechanical geniuses of Summit County. Jamie Bailey sends them an Angel Alert!! Angel Alert!! for helping her out when her car broke down. From her e-mail, it looks like she has been all over town with her broken-down rig. She sends a shout out to Vic, John and Bill from Keystone, Andy and Cody from Frisco Tire and Service and Lars. Given our novice song-writing skills, we’ll construct our car-repair ode in an artistic expression we’re more familiar with – the haiku.Vroom then great big boomTrouble comes with steel and wheelsEat my dust bad car.***We’re out, trying to access our subconscious via loud repetition of the E major chord.
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