I'm in China in semi-desert place with American travelers. We seem to be a trade or academic delegation. Suddenly about 500 Chinese walk towards us. I'm uncertain, but not very afraid. Then smiles on those in front rows. One comes forward who knows a little English--a man about my age wearing a little blue-denim Chinese worker's cap. I say slowly that I'm a railroad worker, but lost my job when the volcano exploded. They are feeling sorry for me and express regrets--a ripple of ooos and sighs through the crowd when he translates. Then I name slowly the cities that I may go to in order to find another railroad job. I wonder if they see similarities in American union protection and Chinese socialist protection. Suddenly, I'm in a pasture behind where I lived when I went to college (close to the university, but still we kept two cows). The Chinese are with me. I decide to show them my house and garden so they will see an American place. We walk slowly around the house and I talk about the oak trees they have never seen and the flowers that are new to them. When we get to the front of the house the dream ends.