Once in a while I'll have a dream that sticks with me for one reason or another.
This one was just a short little thing, and the reason it sticks in my mind is that it's funny.
At the beginning of this dream we are out at the farm. I don't know whose farm, nor where it is, but there we are. It's sort of like my sister's place, but not exactly.
The children, about a half dozen of them of differing ages, younglings between say two and seven, are gathered together, sitting in a tight circle out between the barn and the house.
They've got their heads together and in their hands are their phones and other little electronic gadgets.
A simple narrative and descriptive essay won't quite cut the mustard in telling about this dream.
Gramma must do a little explaining.
One of the things that must be explained is that when a Gramma sees a half dozen younglings who are not running around like chickens with their heads cut off but have said heads all together perfectly still in a circle, that Gramma must needs find out what's going on, as trouble, or at least excitement, of some kind either has been brewed or is being brewed.
Therefore, said Gramma, being myself, hies her thither to the cluster of younglings to find out what they're up to, or have been up to, as it is not natural for younglings, especially THESE younglings whom she knows so well, to be sitting so still on a beautiful warm sunny summer day at the farm.
Upon approaching the small group, I see that small fingers are rapidly flying over even smaller keyboards, touching tiny keys that are almost too small for my eyes to register but the little ones have no such trouble at all finding the ones they want.
Mutterings and exclamations of dismay punctuate the otherwise quiet group, and my curiosity is aroused as I get closer yet.
Nobody has noticed that I'm anywhere in the vicinity, all intent on whatever they're doing, so up I walk plain as day and hear part of what they're muttering and exclaiming about.
It seems they're looking for something on line, and there are references to Google, and searches, and Earthnet, and someone says something about chickens, which doesn't fit in with much of anything else they're saying.
'Whatcha doing?' I ask as I get right up to them.
They all startle as though I'd snuck up on them out of the blue and banged on a cymbal.
Away go the electronics into pockets as though I couldn't see them putting them away.
Wide innocent eyes of different shades of blue, and medium brown, and dark brown, look up at Gramma.
'Nothing,' comes in a chorus of differently pitched voices. 'Just sitting here.'
'Mm-hm.'
And then the story comes out.
These younglings are absolutely no good at keeping secrets, especially from Gramma.
Turns out they had been playing in the chicken coop, forgot to latch the gate, and all the chickens got out.
'So what are you all sitting in this circle for?'
'We're looking for the chickens.'
Not being one to discourage children, especially younglings of my own flesh and blood, from creativity, I don't blink an eye at this.
'Are you having any luck?'
'No. We were going to see if we could find Duke to help us, but we can't find him, either. He's bigger than the chickens, you see, and should be easier to find.'
'I see.'
'But we can't find him,' they say sadly. 'And we can't find the chickens, either. Are we in trouble?'
Much as I want to, I do not laugh.
'Show me how you were planning on looking for them,' I say.
So out come the electronics again, a variety that they pull from their pockets.
'Well Gramma,' they tell me solemnly, 'Here's how it works. When you want to find out something you Google it, and search the web, and you find it, because the web knows EVERYTHING. You can find anything on the web. You just have to look.'
'Well. Let's see what you've got here, okay?'
And they show me.
They've been googling to beat the band, searching their little hearts out, without the slightest bit of success, and they're baffled, confused, and getting a little scared because they can't find the chickens or even Duke.
They've got all kinds of interesting sites about farms and chickens pulled up, and a bunch of nobility stuff regarding Duke, and even a pretty good bird's eye view of THIS farm.
'But,' they tell me, 'we can't zoom in enough to be able to see the chickens.'
'Ah, I see,' sez I. 'You do have a bit of a problem here, don't you?'
'Can you help us, Gramma?'
They're obviously dubious but being polite little things they go ahead and ask Gramma, because even though they don't think she can do any better than they can (and honestly, they're MUCH better), it's always nice to ask old people for help because it makes them feel good.
So Gramma, being myself, agrees to try to help and emits a shrill whistle that makes all the younglings jump and then get to their feet to gather around Gramma in case she falls over in a fit or something as she might be going crazy right in front of their eyes.
'Are you okay?' they ask.
'I'm fine,' answers Gramma. 'I'm just looking for Duke.'
And sure enough, here comes Duke, galloping toward them from the trees.
Eyes round in amazement, and the younglings stare at Gramma.
At an almost invisible signal, Duke sits at Gramma's feet and pants loudly, dripping dog drool onto one of her work boots.
Gramma clucks like a chicken, makes a circle in the air with her hand, and makes a little shooing motion to Duke, who immediately charges off and can be seen running through the trees, back and forth.
In a little while the chickens all come running out of the trees with Duke behind them, heading for their chicken coop.
'Best go open the gate,' Gramma tells the younglings, who charge off ahead of the chickens to open the gate.
'And close it when they're all in there,' adds Gramma, although nobody can hear her by now.
Once the chickens are secured and Duke is happily playing fetch with the younglings, up comes the oldest of them to Gramma.
'Thank you for helping us,' she says. 'We never knew you could do that!'
'Well, life is full of surprises,' sez Gramma, who is me.
'No kidding!', says the youngling. 'Can we do that again so I can video it? Otherwise nobody's going to believe we have a Gramma who's better than Google.'
'Oh, I don't think that's a good idea. The chickens are probably pretty tired, you know. They're better off just staying at home in their coop for a while.'
And for a very long time after that, the younglings looked at Gramma just a little differently, with maybe a bit of awe.
And so ends the dream. I have to say it was a nice little dream, and very fun, as I don't get to spend as much time with the younglings as I would like.
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