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  • More often than not, dreams are neither profound nor prophetic. They merely consist of rather thin plot development.

    I was in a large loft space and was working at the taping of some show with old "To Tell The Truth" panelists Kitty Carlisle and Peggy Cass. They were seated on a sofa - inhabiting their 1969 selves - dressed in gowns and dripping with jewelry - answering questions and sharing anecdotes. I believe my dead mother might have been there as well.

    Time, place, and point of view having no place in dreams of any kind, Peggy and Kitty are now co-presenters of a cable access movie review show. They sit in tall director’s chairs and read from scripts they hold in their hands.

    Peggy, seated at one side of the screen, says, "Oh, I just loved that Nottingham Hill. That Nottingham Hill was just the greatest." And Kitty responds, "Oh, yes, Nottingham Hill it was just wonderful! Wonderful!" I'm thinking: "No. No! Notting Hill! Not, Nottingham Hill! Notting Hill! Oh, they're going to sound so stupid!" And Kitty says, "Peggy? Didn't you do the staged version of Nottingham Hill? You were wonderful in it!" There is a smattering of applause as Peggy nods in false-modest acknowledgement of her amazing talent.

    In the loft space where Peggy and Kitty are sitting on the sofa answering questions I want very badly to ask Peggy and Kitty what it was like to work on "To Tell The Truth." I’m eager to learn about the day to day-to-day details. I'm waiting for one of them to stop reminiscing so that I can ask that line of questioning or if they miss Bill Cullen or if Kitty is sad that Peggy has died.

    And in just the same way that you cannot cry out for help when the shark-mushroom-tentacle monster slowly slithers toward your bed, I am unable to force the words from my mouth and am suddenly at Kitty's side as she sits at a table, in her scarlet gown, cutting out squares of baked pastry pie crust baked a rich golden brown. The crust is puffy and most certainly made with lard and a projection of the movie review show they'd taped earlier flickers on a screen behind us.

    I say to Kitty, "I watch 'To Tell The Truth' every night." and I clarify when Kitty's eyes widen in surprise, "The old reruns. They’re on every night." Kitty looks pleased and continues to cut the pastry piecrust. It looks delicious, and I'm wondering are there some apples or peaches beneath that toasty crispy and tender crust.

    I say to Kitty, "It's really funny," when I mean to say it is really wonderful or fun or interesting and Kitty replies, "Well, I'm glad it doesn't come off seriously!" and she laughs her “ha-ha-ha!” signature laugh. Her mouth open like a cavern-corpse her white teeth flashing her lips stretched wide her head tossed back as if she's about to receive all the manna of heaven.
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