Last night, I dreamed that David Carradine was a part time Shaolin monk/ theatre owner and part time blind mobster. ( I was sad when I checked online to make sure I was spelling his name correctly to discover that Mr. Carradine passed away in 2009.)
In my dream, I worked at his theatre company. We had just finished our Christmas production and it had been a huge success. Being a mobster, he had plenty of money to throw at his shows, so they were amazingly extravagant productions. The theatre could comfortably sit over 2000 people and there was no such thing as bad seating. You could see and hear the show from any spot. He'd brought in almost a dozen real 50 ft pine trees to decorate the lobby. And every night, the show had been sold out. People would be talking about it all year long.
When he was at the theatre, he was always dressed in his orange robes, was very quiet except when he was directing or running a production meeting, and spent a great deal of time in his zen garden. When my visual perspective changed, I realized he was sometimes in there meditating, and sometimes in there getting ready to switch to his out of theatre role as a blind mobster, complete with pin stripe suit. The change was so radical, no one ever noticed that they were the same guy. Either that or it was like Superman's curl and glasses. In either case, no one except his driver knew that he was both men.
It was time to take the show down. Mr. Carradine was in his Model T switching roles mentally when his driver warned him suddenly that he needed to remember he was blind. And a rival mobster suddenly threw his arm into the window and snapped in Mr. Carradine's face. He played the blind well, but pointed out to the fool that he wasn't deaf, thank you. Then the car drove away. And suddenly the rest of the rival group showed up in another model T and fired a single shot from a tommy gun (They were concerned with not hitting innocent by standards and weren't out to kill the driver-- it wasn't his fault he had poor taste in employers.) that pierced the windshield and struck Mr. Carradine in the upper right chest. The driver did not stop the car but took him immediately to the theatre. The bullet had only ruined his $10,000 dollar suit. Being a monk, he'd concentrated and stopped the bullet from penetrating his skin. He changed into his orange and acted like nothing had happened.
I was the first into the now empty post show theatre and it was strike day. I got the lights on and started gathering up Christmas ornaments. Once everyone else showed up, I had to smile. It was all my theatre friends, from both universities. I considered joining the costumers as they were literally having to climb over mounds of fabric and costumes and laughing and having such a good time, but between the two schools, there were over a dozen of them and they had it well in hand. We could visit at the stike party. And so I was relegated to props. And there were a LOT of them. I anticipated it would take me a week just to clear the ornaments.
Thank goodness I woke up before I had to do all that!
And here's a quick sketch for the dream: Mr. Carradine in the pinstripe suit holding one of the ornaments I was holding in my dream just before I woke up.