MY dreams are often quite detailed. Sometimes they are like full movies that I recall very clearly, since they sometimes linger with me for a while after waking.
As a child, whenever I had a dream with a sense of completion to it, the final scene would freeze, in shades of blue, and white film credits would roll up. However, that no longer happens.
I just woke from one of those detailed dreams and am now at the laptop recollecting it here. It was one of those dreams that skips from scene to scene – different places with different people; but the one constant about this one was that I had a bagpipe. It was not the typical bagpipe (pipes and bag) – it was just one pipe, but whenever I played it, it sounded like the real thing.
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As a teen I had tried to play bagpipes on one of our family stays in Scotland, but it was unexpectedly challenging and the noises produced were nothing like the beautiful droning, flowing tone that is one of my favourite sounds. I consider bagpipes as my personal "national" instrument.
In the dream, the bagless pipe was with me wherever I went. I would play at a moment’s notice – at the beach, in the rain, in a vehicle with friends, etc. It comforted and relaxed me and did the same for those in my presence, who never questioned why I played the instrument, sometimes even in mid conversation.
After a series of escapades with a friend, the dream eventually switched to a house in which my family used to live, in Hardy Drive, St Augustine.
The house was abuzz with activity and people, all of whom seemed to be preparing for a huge event that was to take place at the JFK Hall, UWI campus. While everyone rushed around "getting ready," I nonchalantly took a stroll to campus, playing my bagless pipe.
Evening had fallen, and students were jogging, chatting and buzzing around in the dark.
I still maintained a very deep sense of calm...until I suddenly remembered that the event that night was called Women of Substance and I was to be the MC and make the opening speech.
Alarmed at the realisation that I had only about an hour to get ready, I ran home. There, the others were dressed and on the verge of leaving for the event.
I scrambled, not knowing what to wear and not having any "appropriate" shoes – just some brown leather slippers.
I had no idea where my speech was – then recalled that I had not written one. I fumbled to come up with words, writing hurriedly on a napkin – something about Women of Substance and thanks to First Citizens Bank and two major companies whose names were clear when I woke, but now, as I write, my recollection of them has faded away.
I comforted myself by thinking that after welcoming the "ladies and gentlemen" and announcing the name of the event and the sponsors, I would simply tell the crowd that I prefer to ad lib, rather than read from a prepared speech – which is true. In fact, I thought that instead of talking I would just play my flute (by that time the bagless pipe h
