I did not sleep all that well last night. I only very occasionally suffer from insomnia although I do frequently wake up at That Batscope Hour when your brain works overtime and you confront the fact that you are gonna diiiiiiie. Someday. I think that a lot of people do that. Once upon a time I read various articles on The Google or somewhere that our ancestors often woke up in the middle of the night. They would eat, have you-know-what, even visit with neighbors. As this was as recent as the 1800s and my grandparents were born in the late 1800s, I was intrigued with this idea. I don’t know how true it is (I mean, it *was* on the internet) but I tend to not get panicky these days when I wake up in the wee Batscope Hours and cannot immediately get back to sleep.

But there was wind last night and that unsettles me in general. So I woke up multiple times during the night and then… Of course… I fell into REM sleep maybe an hour before I normally launch myself out of bed. 4:30 or so? What the heck? I had lost my iPhone. In my dream. And my mother but I won’t get into that except that the last time I saw her (in my dream), she was sitting at a table in the Old/Moomincabin parking lot checking people in to a Piedy 4th of July party. What?

We have had a couple of interesting Find My iPhone incidents recently. In the most recent one, the phone was found in the person’s pocket. I laughed but I have done that kind of thing too. In my dream I never did find my mother but my iPhone was found UNDER WATER in a strange little keyhole-type-thing in a rock. But then my alarm woke me up and I knew exactly where my iPhone was, which was on the dresser next to my bed, plugged in and everything. And I *dragged* myself outta bed, took a shower, and set off on my normal 0-skunk-30 neighborhood prowl.

I am envious of my BFF, who is hanging out in the Green Cabin making pasties from scratch. I won’t disclose her location but it is on a large inland lake in the yooperland and they are heating with wood in the gorgeous Green Cabin. Long before I was born, my parents spent a fall at my grandparents’ Old Cabin. They heated the place with a huge stone fireplace and a wood cooking stove in the kitchen. I think they actually managed to make a Thanksgiving dinner in the old stove there and I think my aunt Roberta may have been there for that but I could be wrong. At some point snow started to fall and my old coot said to his bride, we need to move to town. And so they did. To his parents’ house at first and then to an apartment downtown.

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