Crash

I am riding in a hot air balloon with Ester. I don’t know who is piloting the balloon but I assume someone else is there doing so. I lean out of the basket as rise higher above the field we must have very recently taken off from. I try to take a picture of the chase vehicle and Brooke standing next to it. I can’t tell if she is in focus or even in the frame of the shot. Then we fly over a quaint, little town. I look down on the cobblestone streets and squares. On one street that circles around a fountain, I see mom step out of a red English style phone booth on the sidewalk. She is wearing a full riding outfit like a proper lady would wear to go horseback riding. She has on the rounded cap with the short bill, the jodhpur pants that billow out to one side at the ankle. But her entire outfit is not the usual brown hue, she is wearing bright white from head to toe. I cannot see if see is holding a whip. I wave at her and try to take her picture. But again I cannot tell if I get her in the spot properly. It almost feels like the balloon is spinning although I don’t think it is.

I am sitting at kitchen table with Crutch and another guy. Crutch is making a smoothie, whipping chunks of pineapple in a blender. Then I start to make one but add in lots more pineapple. Or do I try to take Crutch’s off the base of the blender? The pitcher of the blender has no lid on it. And as I lift it off the base, it feels like the entire picture is wobbling under the centrifugal force of the pineapples whipped by the blades. The force pulls the pitcher out of my hand and the pitcher bounce around the room. But nothing spills out of it until the pitcher lands in the other guy’s lap. Then little chucks of pineapple fly in an arch above the table and across the room. The arch extends from his lap, up over the table and towards the far wall.

I am standing outside across the street is an old house. There are all sizes of window frames leaning against or hanging from the front (or is it the side?) of the house. All the frames hold panes of stained glass. Not little random shards of different colors that form a picture like in church. No, these windows just have a few panes of different colors large squares or rectangles each the entire space of that pane within the frame. Some frames sit on the ground and are tall enough to almost reach the room. Some hang covering the windows of the second floor. Some just sit on the ground barely reaching up to the porch rail. Off the right, an old woman pushes a shopping cart. The cart is almost or completely empty. The road slopes away from her and gets steeper as she goes on. The cart handle seems to slip from her fingers and glide away almost as if she pushed it. The cart rolls quickly down the hill of the road, but the old woman keeps up right behind it. Her feet shuffle along without extra and she keeps her arms in the position as when she let go of the cart. It looks like she is still pushing it expect that the cart is a mere inches in front of her. I turn around and my grandfather is standing in the gravel driveway with the strip of straggly grass down the middle besides my other grandmother’s yellow house. I see my red blazer from high school parked in her garage in the backyard. Grandfather tells me, “There is no way your getting that door.” I look behind him into the backyard and see a wooden door with stained glass in the upper half leaning against a wooden fence.