Friday morning, September 1, 2000
I dreamed I was visiting a house in which I had stayed before, often enough that I kept a coat-stand with some clothes there. My clothes had disappeared. Electrical conduit was hanging out of the walls and repairs were underway. I asked the lady of the house where my clothes were and she pointed overhead: only one thing remained, suspended on a hanger high over my head, an old Tibetan bag of heavy brown leather, its wide shoulder strap holding a purse of tooled leather, with silver decoration and a red felt lining. I could not reach it, but I felt I must and would.