15 January 1995 Last night i had the second dream i remember clearly about meeting one of my heroes. Ray Carver and I and a few others who werent paying so much attention as i (who was riveted except for a brief period when I had to run around and play on the swings to let out some of my excitement) were hanging out at Alma Schraders playground. He told me a story I dont remember except it was comforting as much as inspirational to me, as we sat in adjacent swings and he stroked my hair lightly. Then he told me about (after I asked him about middle america) the first night he accidentally spent the night with his soontobe wife. It was in the woods. When I asked him to explain further, he likened writing for middle america to being on the road, and cooking with a camp stove. Oh, another thing, before all that: he also asked me what else I did, was interested in, besides writing. He seemed to think it important.