I drive to a large house on a shady street and enter. It is the home of the fictional Leatherwoods who in the musty shop of my hometown history operated a booth.

But this house is huge with many and varied rooms on multilevels and the occupants the same.
The family is in early nineteenth century British countryside dress, and they fall into pageants like children at play. They are almost all women and they are creative and talented in many spheres.

Here they form an impromptu tableau of a famous painting I cannot name at the mere mention of the title. I'm told the rendering is precise.

Here they jump into a scene from Moliere which I, alas, also do not recognize, but am told it may be the very best presentation of those moments onstage anywhere, and I'm inclined to believe it.

I walk around as at a county fair, with the addition, rare for fairs but common in my dreams, of lapsing at times into insufficient attire, including none at all. I'm bare at times, and at other times I have on a minimal plus-four undergarment arrangement which suits me better, but I have no idea how these separate items come to be associated with me.

Oh, dear, I've lost my camera. A little digital number; have you seen it? Drat.

I spend much time going through rooms and encountering interesting personnel in search of my camera. I am in step with a willowy youngster and am informed in one room that were I to conduct an affair with Olivia I must be more discreet. To laughter I stutter I have no such intentions, or...at least no such hopes. She is lithe and radiant and then she is off on another march and does not seem to recognize me further.

And now I'm outside, for it's the time to go, and I find...my auto is not where it was left. At least, not where I think I have left it. I go about down the street in search of it. Ragamuffins in the street on dirtbikes agree to search for a generous fee. I tell them it's a small dark Datsun, and they go off down the winding drive of a garage.

Here comes Lee, one of the Leatherwoods. I go back inside with him, for he has some presentation to make. Here is your wallet, he says, and grandly hands it to me to general applause. I am so grateful I forget for a moment I didn't lose my wallet, but my camera.

Everyone seems to be of the opinion it is a very pleasant development, and so who am I to argue?