Comics and Wish Baskets

I dreamed two dreams last night that I remember,

           The first was of a comic I was drawing on the Web. (Not truly a likely possibility.) The panel was a kind of Where's Waldo looking thing, but when you rolled your mouse over the people in the picture you could see what they were thinking of in the next panel over. The joke was that the men were all imagining the women around them naked, while the women we imagining families, cars, vacations, solving the world hunger problem, inventing an FTL drive, etc.

           The second dream. The second is a dream that I think will stick with me for awhile. I've already done thumbnails of the main prop of the story. I've already seen how to turn the treads of the dream into a story, or a series, or perhaps next years NaNoWriMo. (I don't know that I can wait that long.)

Here is the dream, the story will have to wait a bit.

           I was helping put the finishing touches on the consignment tent for the local Ren Faire. I operated the tent, it had once been part of my wife's St Vitus' Guild Dance Macabre changing room, but we had since acquired something better for them, as they had outgrown it, and I had purchased it from the guild. N didn't really approve, but consented as it meant I was at the Faire with her all day. I had struck upon the idea of running a two weekend consignment shop for the participants of the Faire. Old props, clothing, and even some furniture were gathered under my tent during the run of the Faire. It gave me a place to sit and watch the people go by, and a place for folks to exchange their junk, their stories, and sometimes, their luck. I had come in early to move some items out of the rising stream behind my tent. L was very concerned about her stacking two drawer chests, and was trying to move them on her own. I told her to wait for help lifting them.
"But you're not going to be able to lift these," she complained with an all-is-lost tone in her voice.
           "I have science on my side! Behold, the magic lifter!" and I pulled a old green and silver handtruck out from behind the back of the tent. I took an old real estate sign and placed it on the blade of the handtruck to help keep the mud from the bottom of her furniture, and helped her rock them back far enough to slip the handtruck beneath. I tipped them back, they really didn't weigh much of anything. I spun them out over the stream.
           "Oh! No! you wouldn't!"
           Then I pulled them back up the embankment to a flat spot next to the front pillar of the tent.
           "Oh, sorry, I thought...."
           "Remember, I get ten percent, I'm not likely to do anything to reduce their sale value." I smiled at her and she was mollified. L went on about her morning business, getting ready to take her place at the front gate where she would be sketching until my wife's first parade of the day.
           I pulled another couple of heavy items out from under the brown tarp and pulled them up the hill. These were much heavier, and I could have really used some help, but I managed. In the process I knocked over a pitcher. Immediately I smelled the scent of cobalt and turpentine. I spun around to see I'd knocked over a clay pitcher, someone had set a small can of dark blue paint in its opening. I dove down to the ground and began using the lid of the can to try to scoop the contents off the ground and out of the gutter leading to the storm drain. I didn't want the paint to join the runoff.
           I was angry at my hands and feet for making me clumsy. Angry at having been left. Angry at being alone to haul the heavy stuff. I really was, essentially, feeling sorry for myself. I heard the electric cart drive up next to me, saw, out the corner of my eyes the shoes socks and shorts of a mail carrier step out and wander into my tent. Grumbling to myself, I was not really ready to face a customer, yet. The mailman said something, but I didn't catch it, still grumbling to myself over the spilled paint.
           I started to say "I can't hear you," but thought better of it and said "I wasn't listening, I knocked over some paint here."
           "What did you say?" said the elderly man as he bent over to bring his face closer to seeing my face. From the cadence and volume of his voice and the tone, I could tell he was nearly deaf.
           I looked up. His smile could have safely lit a twisty two lane highway on a rainy night. I smiled back, not really able to stop myself.
           "Oh, I see you're a bit busy."
           "I almost have it. I just don't want to get paint in the runoff water."
           "That's uncommon of you."
I took it as a complement. I finished and the mailman waited patiently until I stood up.
           "You didn't even get any on you."
           I looked down, my garb was indeed free of blue spots, a small miracle. I smiled. "A fortunate day."
           "It is what you make of it."
           "Indeed it is." I suddenly found myself looking forward to my day, my customers, my friends, both old and new.
           The mailman held up a pair of baskets, wicker baskets with handles tied together by a long braided ribbon.
           They were hideous and lovely at the same time. The one hanging high on the wire hanger was trimmed in lace splayed out a couple of inches like stegosaurus plates across the handle and around the top of the basket itself. the inside was line with a red and white gingham plaid, a dark red velvet cushion filled all but the top three inches. Glass beads and crystals hung from colored threads woven into the handle every quarter of an inch or so. More colored threads and beads were woven into the basket itself. The bottom and lower couple of inches were covered with a rich brownish gold brocade.
The second basket was made much the same, but instead of lace, the grip was wound with black and brown leather with gold studs in it, the colored threads held metal beads, some iron, some copper some tin or pewter, and hematite glittered in the collection as well. The same colored threads securely held more of the same beads to the wickerwork of the basket, and the velvet cushion was darker, and the plaid in the basket the same.
           "Would you like me to sell them for you?" As soon as the question left my lips, I knew the answer was no.
           "A woman on my route passed away recently and left me these. I don't really need them, I am retired, yesterday, and have everything I need. I was just looking for someone who could use them." He looked around the shop.            "I think you can, so I am giving them to you."
           "Thank you." I took them as he handed them over to me. I felt something in the exchange. I looked into his bright blue eyes, it was something like looking into a mirror.
           "You're welcome." He smiled. "Yes, I know you can take care of everything."
           "I'll do my best."
           "Thank you. That's all anyone could hope for."
           "You're welcome."
           We shook hands as though sealing a deal.
           I thought about removing the tattered and faded braids holding the two together, then realized there was more than one set, over the years someone had added to the braid, the inner ones were thin and threadbare. I found some red and cream colored ribbon, and added N and my colors to the braid. It immediately looked more festive. I hung one basket on each side of the doorway into the tent. The ribbone draped in three loops, decoratively across the opening. I don't exactly know why, but I put the baskets at different heights, chest high for the darker one and waist high for the lighter one. I went into my supplies and took out the "Make a Wish SD" placard I had in a small basket by the money table and put it in the white basket. In the other, I made a sign "D and N's charity of the moment." Figuring that if anyone made a donation I would split it between the Lung Association and the Cancer Society, or even the CRES folks. Then I figured we'd let folks make suggestions.
           I made another sign for the center of the doorway, "<-Wishing Baskets->" and put the ribbons around the arrows, then the parchment above the "consignment shop" sign. The effect was to make us the "Wishing Baskets Consignment Shop."
           I slipped fourteen dollars into the white basket and seven in the darker one as seed money, and the day began.
           Morning wore on, everyone noticed the baskets, several donated. I started reminding folks to make a wish. Suddenly the customers and the money came pouring in, well, customers, anyway. The Money was mostly in coins, lots of pennies and dimes, but as the morning progressed, more bills joined my own as well. The shop itself did well, somehow always seeming to have someone show up with more items to sell just as current stocks were being lowered. I barely had time to play a chess match.
           While everyone was watching the Dance Macabre, I noticed a young woman sidle up to the dark basket and reach in to take some money out.
           "Ahem! Do you need it, or do you want it?" I asked.
           "I haven't eaten all weekend," she defended herself.
           "Oh?"
           "Well, who do you think you are?"
           "D. But I think the question is, who are you?"
           She dropped the money back in the basket.
           There was something desperate about her, in a sad way. "If you need it, take it. Just remember, each of those coins is tied by an invisible braid to someone's wish, that is a heavy responsibility."
           "How about the bills that were in there before opening?"
           "That's just one wish."
           Watching me carefully the whole time, she dug into the bottom of the pile and pulled out my fiver and two ones.
           "Teriyaki Chicken is nutritious and a good deal!" I shouted after her as she ran off. I thought I heard her crying.
           "Interesting." Commented the mailman, and went back to the game.
           Later, the girl came back, and tossed in the change from her Teriyaki bowl, carefully, one coin at a time.
           "One wish for five, hunh?"
           "Well, I, ah don't really bel..." she stopped. "Thank you. I really needed that. I'll stay here and help." As she said so, she grabbed a broom and started sweeping the morning's leaves and twigs off the carpet. As she spun around her skirt caught the sun and the multi colored panels were reflected in every bead and crystal in the two baskets. I could see the baskets had worked something for her, or, perhaps for me. It may have been some combination of both. The fact that she had come in and taken on the single most common chore I did all day that just brutalized my hands and feet was a good sign.
           She stayed the rest of the day, even helping pack things back up into the tent. She was surprised at me giving out almost all the money at the end of the day to the folks whose items had sold. I had to explain the concept of consignment to her. Many of the folks I could tell who had bought their items, and how happy they'd been. The story of the good folks who bought their items seemed more welcome than the money to most.
           L was disappointed that hers had not sold, but the girl pointed out that the price was very high. (I quietly explained that L didn't really want to sell them, and she was not to make any effort to do so tomorrow.) Somehow I knew the girl would be back. I paid her about half of what we'd made in the afternoon and she hugged me and started to run off. She put seven dollars in the basket. Then hesitated and dropped in seven more.
           "I might need to eat again tomorrow." she smiled and ran off. I knew that she was the shop help I had wished for. I also knew her adventure with the wishing baskets was just beginning. It was as though I could see the braids that bound her to the baskets, and specifically my wish.
           Participants began to stop in more frequently as the evening progressed, talking and donating, making wishes and whispering to one another. Somehow my little shop had become a popular hangout.
           Too popular for N, so N went off to get stoned and I was alone with the crowd.