It was a dream, of course, and quite lovely. And elaborate.
Last night, I dreamt that Burt and I were out walking.
We took a short cut through the lobby of a hotel, maybe one I’ve dreamt of before, but not in a long while.
It was like my dream version of the Williams Club. Burt and I had worked at the Williams Club, where we hosted events for one of the associations we managed. We greeted members of a real estate group and handed them their nametags.
Anyway, I told Burt “that’s David Letterman” and I stopped to talk with him.
(It was uncharacteristic that I was the one chatting with a celebrity. Usually, I would be the one to identify and Burt would approach and talk.)
Letterman was with the hotel ‘s owner who steered him away to a ballroom where Letterman, in an imam beard (like one Burt had for a while) was going to be interviewed.
I guessed the hotel owner was going to be the interviewer for tonight.
I said to Burt we’re going to be banned from this hotel for even approaching Letterman.
Letterman was, after all, under his auspices, and a protected celebrity. Like restaurants, venues want to shelter their clientele.
Once we had left the hotel, Burt wanted to walk ahead and went off up one path. He said he’d see me later.
David Letterman, with his mountain man beard and in a very boxy-shouldered, wide, somewhat-short plaid jacket [it looked like a horse blanket], came out and turned back towards me.
He said “wait a minute that’s the realtamara.” I answered, “yes and I am with Burt.” Letterman said Burt died. I said “yes and he’s mobile again and walking with me.”
After my chat with Letterman, during which I was thinking Letterman knows my work, I panicked because I thought I would not be able to find Burt.
Our walk leaving the hotel was not on a street but on a path in some sort of park. It was paved and there were benches.
I did find Burt after I went on a curving path which looked like one that I had also dreamt of before, one bordering a square and very angular Madison Avenue. [In earlier dreams it was home to a library I think.]
As I rounded one footpath, Burt was coming towards me, in his shorts and hat.
this is our life 