I read the other day that when you dream, two different parts of your brain are involved, one which creates the dream, and one which watches it. I don’t know if that is really true, but it’s a fascinating idea. And it aligns with my busy night last night.

I had trouble sleeping. That’s not unusual for me, I’m afraid. But it’s the nights when I have trouble sleeping that I have the dreams that I remember best.

I remember parts of two dreams last night. The first was quite detailed, although I don’t remember very much of it. But I do remember that I was part of a small group listening to a presentation on how utilities are financed in Massachusetts. (What? You think this is an unusual dream?) I remember listening carefully, and then I remember asking questions in my dream. I remember wondering if the utilities in Massachusetts were publicly owned or privately owned. I asked that, but don’t remember the answer. Then I had a more complicated question that I asked. And I asked it politely. I remember saying something like: “I want to step back a bit. Are these utilities financed with one loan that covers both the construction period and the post-construction period, or are they separate loans?”. I think I was told that there was one loan only, and I wondered what the flexibility was if circumstances changed, such as a drop in general interest rates.” What can I say? It was my dream.

The second dream was very different. I had an Italian friend (perhaps he was American, but was ethnically Italian). Either I picked him up at the airport, or he picked me up, but in any event on our way from the airport we were going to have a meal (lunch? dinner?) at an Italian restaurant he told me was very authentic. But we pulled up at a gas station. There were many gas pumps. But next to the door to the gas station office was another door with a sign over it that said “Spaghetti”. We went into that door, down a cement hallway, and into a large room where the mechanics were working on cars. We walked through that room (everyone was friendly) and went through a door at the back. All of a sudden we were in the foyer of a very upscale restaurant. The maitre d’ welcomed us and asked if we had a reservation. We didn’t. And he took us through the very crowded, white table cloth restaurant to a flight of stairs that went up to the second floor, a loft floor which was not quite as formal, but which overlooked the downstairs room. There were four people at one other table, but every other table was empty. We got one for two where we could look downstairs. What did we eat? How was it? No clue.

Yep, that’s what you dream when you’re 80.