Whew. Our Internet is restored. The line running from the pole to our house was badly weathered. Between the roof heat baking off the casing, the neighbor's apple tree that the line runs through, and various wild animals chewing on it, it was apparently a miracle that we were getting any kind of signal at all.
Also, our house's interior phone lines are using the old style large gauge copper wires, at which the tech working on our system expressed dismayed surprise that we weren't picking up radio signals. I suppose things could get interesting if there's ever an EMP event here.
What this has taught me is that I need to set a timer and be disciplined about how much time I spend surfing e-mail and social media. And that I should visit more news sites.
On the dream front: I was on a campus singing "Primitive" by Annie Lennox (...Sweetheart the sun has set, all red and primitive above our heads...) at dawn. The recall is fuzzy, because I didn't remember the dream until I started singing another Annie Lennox song in the shower, "Six o'clock in the morning / and I'm walking down the street..." But... I was at some sort of campus workshop. It was early in the morning and the red sun painted the walkways golden pink and I was singing "Primitive," as if it were the opening montage of a television show.
I walked into a kind of gym, and various folks in gis from The Child's dojo were there. There was something about a performance, and getting large mats together in the space. I was wearing some sort of short robe that allowed me to quasi-fly -- it was sort of like I was wearing my old octagonal kite; all I remember was that it had red and yellow sunbeams on it.
Then the dream turned into visiting Carleton/Arcosanti, and I had missed my plane back home because I'd lost track that it was Tuesday. Sifu was driving a bunch of folks in the van, and I was sitting there thinking, "I should get out... I need to get to the airport... " There was something about a twisty river between dark rocky canyons and Garden gnome shrines... and M.H., but I don't recall anything except picturesque and hard-to-get-to rapids and pools.
(In real life, the family is flying away, so I suppose that prompted the anxiety dream motif -- when I told Mark he laughed and remarked that he almost never has airport anxiety dreams)