I had a dream that I was shopping for candy in a sort of warehouse version of Cost Plus World Market. There’s candy everywhere and I’m loading up for some reason.
Of course there aren’t any Cost Plus stores in Japan, so I searched for a long time before finding this Showa-style candy store which I much preferred,even if it meant trekking out to one of my least favorite neighborhoods in Tokyo.
In this dream:
In my dream, I’m at a sweets party. But this party has an issue, and that’s the fact that there aren’t that many different kinds of sweets.
Maybe there’s an issue with the oven or something, but I’m expecting way more kinds of wagashi and cookies and things.
I manage to find a small stack of wagashi. I’m making my way around the party sharing these with people.
Someone is trying to make tea.
I’m trying to make tea.
I need a teapot.
Despite the fact that I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, one of the things I miss most about Japan is being able to regularly have some wagashi and tea.
There’s no need to overdose on sugar, just a small piece paired with a nice pot of tea is enough.
And it’s especially fun to enjoy it on a plate I made myself, even if that plate is far from well-made.
I’m riding a skateboard to Angkor Wat but I stop to say hi to people along the way.
He disappears somewhere and I can’t find him anywhere.
Angkor Wat is one of those places that, despite the constant crowds, has an air of real magic.
And it’s even better if you can have a quiet corner to yourself. A skateboard would be a pathetically inefficient mode of transportation though.
I’m picking flowers from trees and collecting petals to make flowers.
There’s always been something about the silky, thin blossom petals that makes me want to gather up armfuls of fallen petals, cram my pockets full, and carry them home with me.
Our next door neighbors growing up had two cherry trees in their front yard and one year we did just that; scooped them up from the front walk and stuffed the confetti-like petals into a bag. Of course within hours they were a sad, wilted mess, no longer the perfect silk bits they were strewn in drifts on the ground. The ephemerality, of course, being part of the magic, we accepted that our attempts were futile, and never tried to save them again. Still, every once in a while I can’t help but pick up a blossom that’s managed to fall still-whole and perfect and carry it around with me for a bit.