Dreams are strange beasts. It's funny how sometimes the day's events unfold again at night, but in the language of the mind. Things that would be normally impossible, just naturally segue into each other, like something from the Tales of Hoffman.

Not that my dream was so weird.

I was in a greengrocers, an Italian one, being served by an old italian nona. There was something needing to be done. Picking up a root of celeriac, I asked the nona if it was all right if I tried something, and she nodded in agreement. Taking a sharp knife, I started to peel it, except that when the peel was off, I just kept going, curling off one long thin slice of celeriac. Having done that, next cut the slice into long noodles, like tagliatelli, popped them into a pot of stock and cooked them. The nona was impressed by my skill, when the scene segued to my front door.

Entering my apartment I found my wife D inside and gave her my pot of celeriac noodles. She tasted some and was enraptured by them, I was so happy. So was D.

In our waking hours, D has started a diet.

And I know that I will bring my dream to life. More later.