This must be an amalgam of several dreams. I don’t know the order.

While shopping in a grocery store, I realized I no longer had a purse. I was certain that it was lost, not stolen, and did not know how to find it or what to do.

I was in an extraordinarily long kitchen. While it was enormous, it bothered me that its design was impractical. Instead of turning around between, say, counter and island, the chef or cook would have to walk up and down an impressive distance simply to put a recipe together. If someone could afford a mansion and a kitchen that size, couldn’t he or she manage to come up with a better use of the space?

Outside a chef was running after a train, perhaps having forgotten to give someone something. It was important for him to catch up with it. He did, and then the train tore off with him on it. He’d been kidnapped!

He must have escaped, for I saw him running toward me. I thought he might make it, but the train soon reappeared, traveling at full speed. The chef could not run fast enough along the track, and someone caught him up and carried him off again. The train reversed and retreated. I felt badly that the chef had been fooled into being captured. It could have happened to anyone.

When I looked up, the ceiling above was a glass dance floor. The dancers were dressed formally in black ties, tails, and cocktail dresses. I noticed their shoes shuffling, packed so densely overhead that I could see little else. I knew how they were dressed, however.

I heard myself being serenaded, although I didn’t recognize the song. The performer was Todd Rundgren, who was no more than two feet tall. I strained to understand what he was saying and to understand the absurdity of it all.

I was on a hilltop overlooking a church or community picnic. The scene looked eerily like a bucolic landscape painting, beautiful and serene. It didn’t resemble anything at home that I remembered. I also noticed that one or two of the trees looked tropical and out of place. In the distance I thought I could see CS from my days as a docent. I was torn between staying to enjoy the scene and feeling obliged to walk over and say, “Hi.” I wanted to look at it forever.