Sometimes Erin and I have visions. Not like we can see into the future or anything--just that we can picture something so clearly that it is almost as if that thing is absolutely true. Usually the vision starts with just one of us, but then the other gets swept up by the raw power and intensity of the vision and begins to fill in the gaps.
Several years ago we were driving to Pittsburgh to visit a friend, when we passed a sign for Beaver, PA. One of us (I think maybe me) said "Hey! That's where Davy Jones lives now!" (That wasn't part of the vision--we'd recently read it in a magazine or something.)
So a conversation began around what the former member of the Monkees' life was probably like out there in the hills of Beaver. We knew he had a wife and a few kids, but that's pretty much the extent of it. Left with an enormous amount of room for imagination, this is what we came up with:
It is the 4th of July in Beaver, PA. Davy is hosting a backyard family barbecue. He is holding a plate of baked beans, potato salad and a hot dog, and a cup of lemonade while playing football with his nephews in short shorts with the white stripes on the side and wearing ankle socks that are white and have those deep grooves and white Reeboks and taking a tray of hot dogs through a sliding door to the people inside.
I don't know how he was doing all of those things at once, but he was. We were caught up in the frenzy of this wonderfully mundane scenario, which was rendered somewhat magical when attributed to one of our childhood heroes.
To this day, I kind of believe that it really must have happened...exactly as we envisioned it. Fortunately, in our version he wasn't showing off his manboobs.