I AM DARIONE PAINTER, my first novel

Oh oh! Here I go again dreaming about those paintings I did in the days when my paintings sold, before the great recession of 2008. My mind was still groggy as I was beginning to wake up trying to hold on to this dream and begin to analyze the meaning of it all. Was it when we first moved back to Oregon's industrial arm pit on Interstate 5? No, it must have been when we lived at that Washington State boarder town or was it 42 years ago after graduate study in painting at the University of Arizona. Yes, it was when I felt complimented by people saying I painted like a man. The paintings came from before women's lib while painting all year full time with a stipend awarded to me by the Lake Oswego Art Guild. Might have been when Marion Munger tirelessly moved the show from library to library to a Salem department store.
I feel a chill of worry. My memory is gone. I can't remember for sure if the paintings in my dream were ones I actually did and sold or if they were the dream paintings I see in my dreams over and over. Is forgetting caused by not caring enough about each painting? Or coming from making saleable products? No I always put myself completely in all that I do. My laps of memory must be a senior moment of sorts. That is all I thought.

Going back over the dream in my mind as I still lay in bed, I gradually remember the beginning. While driving our car on a snowy slushy road there were two pedestrians ahead crossing the road. No, THEY WERE NOT CASUAL WALKERS. One was chasing the other. Then one fell and my car went out of control in a little sideways slide and I feared that I may have hit one of them. So I stopped and waited. Every muscle tensed up, realizing my danger. The two people in the dusk were wild and irrational. I wanted to lock the doors but couldn't move fast enough before a dreaded familiar face appeared. Lean and hungry, jealous Penny opened the door and grinned a I gotcha smile.