I like to think of myself as a logical person. I know I am fearful--fearing dogs, fearing lightening---but those fears are not totally illogical and, besides, I usually can keep myself under control. They are my fears but, with effort, I can rule them. They do not rule me. But every once in a while, I get unrefutable evidence that I am only a small step (and not on a sidewalk crack) from degenerating into someone who spits to avoid the evil eye.

We are on vacation this week. It is not an uninterrupted vacation. Unfortunately, Mr. Philately discovered that the Seventh Circuit scheduled a very brief oral argument for him in Chicago during our vacation. The Seventh Circuit does not reschedule for snow or sleet or, going one step better than the post office, lawyer vacations. So, we arranged to fly Mr. Philately back to Chicago from Boston just for those demanding judges.

Mr. Philately left last night. On Saturday night, I had a bad dream. Having bad dreams is not particularly unusual for me but I do not usually fear my dreams during the daytime. Despite years and years of dreaming about them, I have yet to meet during my waking hours, a white, flying, furry fish with long pointy teeth. But Saturday night, I dreamed that Mr. Philately's plane crashed and that I then got to relive the day before the crash. Mr. Philately's mumbled assurances were not enough to soothe me, although I did go back to sleep.

I know it's silly. My dreams no more forecast plane behavior than they create flying, furry fish with teeth. Yet I cannot shake my uneasiness.

I have not mentioned it to the children but not because I do not want to scare them. Day-Hay might catch my anxiety because anxiety tends to be contagious but Kat would laugh at me. Yes, I recognize that I would survive having my teenager laugh at me. I have survived THAT millions of times. But I survive it best when I can laugh at myself and I will not be ready to laugh at myself until I get the call from Mr. Philately that his plane has landed in Providence.

In the meantime, I feel like a fool--most likely because I am being a fool.

Superstitious fool, that's me.

P.S. Mr. Philately's plane has landed and he is driving up from Providence now. I did tell Kat. She did not laugh. She preferred to torture me (I think) by telling me she had had the same dream. Teenagers!

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