“I had to meet you,” He said.

“Why?” I answered in amazement.

“Because, you’ve got more blog views, than I do.”

“I just don’t get it,” Bob Dole said.  “I was vice president and later ran for president.”

“I’m sorry, Senator Dole.  I really don’t know why, either.”

I liked the affable, former vice president and senator.  I’d never seen a more gracious political loser.  Why was he haunting my dreams?

“Is it Mr. Dole, or should I call you Vice President Dole, or Senator Dole?

“Oh heck, Son, I’m not in the spotlight anymore–just call me Bob.”

The picnic had to go on.  I needed to say something appropriate.

“Let me reiterate how important Bob Dole’s WWII generation was to me and other “baby boomers” like me.  You guys and gals taught us the value of hard work;  to respect others, the importance of family, and to honor our country.”

The weirdest part, I was making political speeches at a favorite childhood picnic spot–where two rural state highways intersected to form a “Y.”  The green space between the legs of the “Y” was perfect for picnics and family gatherings.  A tower in the middle had a rotating beacon light to direct aircraft.  Lighting for nighttime activities was coin-operated.

“And, furthermore, I want to thank our guest, Bob Dole–former congressman, senator, vice president, presidential candidate; you’re welcome to come back anytime.”

“Next time, bring hot dogs,” An anonymous comment came from the darkness.  “Some snacks would be good.” “Bring a roll of quarters–we can’t see you in the dark.”

I’d never met the man, before last night in my dream.  I never considered him to be a loser.

“Bob Dole, if you intend to hang out in my subconscious mind.  A little advance warning, please, before your next visit.”