Friday, July 30, 2010
I am often visited in my dreams by a sober, handsome Dean Martin. When he appears to me, he is always wearing a black tuxedo and smoking a Chesterfield cigarette. He takes my hand, smiles at me, asks me how I am doing...and I tell him. Good or bad, he listens without judgment. Sometimes he belly laughs with me -- and sometimes he dries my tears. But, always...the sound of his warm, smooth, velvety voice comforts me.