te. The cold awaited me now. If I wanted any comfort through the night, I must submit.
             It wasn't long before my hands were stiff with the cold and my nose running as I made my pilgrimage repeatedly from pile to door. "Why did I let my stash get so low? LAZY!! LAZY!" I found myself flagellating my wonton lack of strategic thinking during this winter vacation......
             Drops of mud and the drip, drip, drip, sounds of snow melting off the wood beside the hearth brought me back. I had drifted.
             "So you ver telling me sometink about da voman. Da voman who smelt of roses? An vat next happened in your dream?" He was looking at me with his pipe in hand, and an unrevealing straight forward gaze. The notepad situated carefully across his lap. I noticed a certain rigidness in his posture, as if he was holding something. Something inside, something he didn't wish for me to see.
             "Dr. Freud, I am feeling uncomfortable telling you this dream. I feel as if you are judging me."
             "So goot. Goot. Now who vould judge you?"
             "I don't know. I guess I felt judged every time I tried to tell my father anything sensitive."
             "Your fadder? Yes. Your fadder. And now back to da voman. Da voman in your dream. You said sometink about a garden hose? Da garden hose mid da vetness?"
             "Yes. It was wet. Very shiny and wet."
             "Goot! Un did you ever have to vater a garden mid your fadder?"
             "Well, I had my chores. We each had our chores back then. I sometimes had the watering chore. To move the sprinkler and to make sure I got all the corners of the lawn wet enough too. Father was very picky about making sure we got the corners of the yard wet enough so the grass would be evenly green and healthy."
             "Ah... Goot. So to da fadder vas very important you make all da grass green and even, ya?"
             "Yes. We lived...