Not a dream

The other morning I was looking at the poker chips on my dresser.  I don't play much poker.  The chips are from my uncle, who enjoyed gambling.  Many of my cousins shared that pastime with him on occasion, though I never had the opportunity.

On this particular morning, I was remembering seeing a similar chip in a highly incongruous location.  It was on a tile floor, close to the corner it formed with vertical surface.  The first place that came to mind was our choir director's house, where we'd been for our annual post-Easter ice cream bash.  But as soon as I thought about it I knew that wasn't right - there's no way Jodi would've had a poker chip on her kitchen floor - and so concluded that I was remembering an eerily lifelike dream.

The following Saturday evening, as I bent down to plug in my guitar direct box at Mass, there it was, on the floor next to the step leading into the sanctuary: a poker chip eerily like the one on my dresser.

Like I said: a highly incongruous location.