Debbie Reynolds is doing a musical (maybe "The Unsinkable Molly Brown" at this local theater, with our amateur theater group, and I'm at a rehearsal. I'm helping out in the back, I think, and I've finished for now. But I'm just looking at what they're doing on the stage, trying to get a scene right, and Debbie (who's directing) tells me to come forward and deliver a line. (Actually, I and a couple of other people were just crossing the stage to leave when she noticed us.) She's trying to get something across to the cast and it isn't coming. So they do the bit and I say my line a couple-three times, and that's okay. I go on... I'm taking this light-blue Volkswagen Beetle that's borrowed off this ledge, somewhat like a loading dock. But there are cars parked all around it except one spot on the far side, and I'll have to lower it off the edge. It's not too hard, but I have to be careful not to drop it. I can let it down one end at a time - it has a sort of pole linking the front end and the back end, and it's jointed, so I can guide it. I get it down okay. Next I'm at Gail's house with some women, toward the end of a visit. I'm in the kitchen with her, and there's a bag of some new kind of croutons, they have different kinds of bread - some light, some dark, they'e very good. (One of us is telling the other that she's just discovered these, try them, they're really good.) Also Gail shows me a Sunday comic that she saved for me, it's funny. I'm ready to leave, though, and I go on. There's also a young man here, he's interesting-looking, but I don't get to know much about him - I'm shying away.I go on outside, and have a look at this drain-plug sort of thing. It's a brass-colored metal fixture in a shallow hole in the front walk, with a little hole in the middle of it. There's supposed to be something plugging up that hole, and earlier I poured some white glue into it to help seal it up. Now I'm examining it, picking at the rounded top to see if it's dried, and pour some more glue in from a large bottle I've taken from the house. Satisfied that it'll dry properly to fill up the space, I take the glue back into the house to just return it and go. Inside, I see the young man just inside the next-room doorway, and put the bottle in his hands, saying something like, "Will you put this back, please?" As I'm turning toward the door again, he moans something about how he's going to die and people just use him to fetch and do errands. I turn back to look - he is the very picture of a whiner. I listen to him for a while, and we go into the next room to talk. As he handles the glue bottle, I realize he's blind. Golly. I'm interested and sympathetic, but I realize he needs somebody to help him just feel like a normal person. Apparently he does have other illnesses or disabilities, but he's not really (or necessarily) going to die - he's just being dramatic. He lays on the floor, and while we're still talking, I sit on his back - gently, carefully. I think he could use some massage to his poor tired body, and I adjust a bit - he doesn't protest - and then rock back and forth to give pressure on his back muscles.