Clint will tell you, I usually have pretty mundane dreams — no flying dreams for me: just grocery shopping, playing with kids, and chatting with friends and family.  Occasionally, I’ll have an unusual person show up in my dream: sometimes it’s Buffy, or someone from a movie that we’ve seen, which makes sense — but I have no explanation for the following:

We were visiting my family in Ohio.  The kids were over-excited from seeing their cousins, and none of them wanted to go to sleep.  We finally managed to get them all ready, teeth brushed, pajamas on, but they were still so excited they were bouncing on the beds.  I was starting to get frustrated, when the doorbell rang:  it was Barack Obama and John McCain, here to help.

They asked where the children were, and followed me up to the bedroom, where the kids were still bouncing and laughing.  (They settled a tiny bit when they saw strangers in the doorway, but that only lasted a second.)

McCain stepped into the room, Obama right behind him.  He introduced himself and his companion, and told the kids that he was here to tell them a bedtime story.

He was just getting warmed up, barely into his story, when he made mention of a black man; he turned to Obama and said something like, “I’m sure Barack, here, can tell you more about how he was feeling…”  Barack stepped forward and said, “actually, yes — I can.”  And proceeded to tell us about the plight of the black man in America, and how proud he is that they’ve come so far.  He went of for quite some time, and McCain got kind of miffed; he waited for Obama to finish, then said, “well, I guess THAT was your bedtime story,” and walked out of the room in a huff.

Obama watched him go, then shrugged and pulled out a little black bag that he’d brought with him.  He said, “Now I’m going to sing you a little song that I like to sing with my son,” and started pulling things out of his bag:  an apple, a banana, a blue ball, and some green Jello jiggler cubes.  Then he proceeded to sing a song about shapes and colors, using those things as props.  (I remember thinking it was a nice song, and wishing that I had recorded it so I could remember it for later.)

As he finished his song, he put all of the props back into his bag; the kids were all sitting quietly now, watching him.  He told them, “if you all listen to your parents, and do what they tell you, I may come back and sing again for you sometime.”  The kids all promised to behave, and snuggled down in their beds to go to sleep.

Barack smiled, then said, “I don’t think you’ll need me to come again,” and left.

———————————————————————————–

That’s it.  And I have absolutely NO idea on Earth why I would have such a dream.  I don’t follow politics; the only things I know about all that is whatever Clint shares with me, and what I read on a friend’s message board.

How strange is that??