I was in the living room of a home which belonged to me. Several members of my family were with me, as well as a second family which had come to visit me. The room was circular – as was the entire house. In fact this one large room – probably 50 feet in diameter – seemed to be the entire house. There were no walls as such, but only windows all around the circumference of the room. The ceiling seemed to slope down on all sides from a point in the center, eventually changing into windows which finally touched the floor all around the perimeter.

I myself had been involved in the construction of the house, although it seemed unclear even to me exactly how I had done it. The house was also particularly enjoyable because of a special quality – it spun around. The house was located in the woods, somewhere on a mountain, and as it spun slowly around we could watch the trees as they passed by the windows.

As we all sat there in the room, a young woman who was a member of the family visiting me asked me if I knew what time the television show "Star Trek Voyager" came on. Something about the woman, or the question, made me think of something Donna had recently written me by e-mail. I recalled Donna had said something to the effect that she wouldn't like to be the kind of person who worked all day and then just came home and watched television every night.

I told the woman that "Star Trek Voyager" came on at 9 o'clock, thinking to myself that I must be a frequent viewer of the show if I knew what time it came on. But actually I didn't know that much about the show, and when the young woman asked me if I could tell her what the substance of the show was, I told her I couldn't. The woman turned on the television and we all saw that even though it was only 7 p.m., "Star Trek Voyager" was already on. I thought to myself that I hadn't even gotten the time right.

Although I didn't know much about the show, I did think it was interesting, and as I watched the images pass across the screen, I thought I would like to know more about the show. I lay down on my back on the floor and began watching.

Suddenly I heard and felt something which startled me. I knew immediately what had happened: the house – while spinning – had come loose and had struck some trees. Thoughts rapidly raced through my mind. I knew what would happen next: the house, broken from its axis, would go careening down the mountainside like a plate rolling down a hill. I felt awful. Chances were we would all be killed, and I felt responsible, but I also felt if I acted quickly, although I might be unable to save the others, I might still be able to save myself. I could throw myself out a window or I could jump up and run to the back door and leap out. But I just didn't feel I could do that; abandoning the others would simply be too cowardly. I didn't think I would be able to live with myself if I did that.

So instead, I began trying to think of how this was going to end, and I gave myself over to my imagination. In my mind I began to invent a little story as to how this affair might conclude. In my mind I could see the house – a circular saucer-like structure sitting in the woods. Suddenly a bright flash of light would fall from above and strike the house. When the light would disappear, the house would be gone. All that would be left would be myself and the other people who had been in the house. We would all be left scattered about, completely unharmed, on the brown earth.

As I continued to think of the story, in my mind I could see walking towards us a tall muscular handsome man. We all would know, however, that he wasn't a man, but a being from another world. He was the one who had actually built the house.

In his hand the man would be carrying two frail cardboard boxes, about the size of shoe boxes, with colorful designs on them. The boxes would look like old toy boxes, perhaps from the 1950s, boxes which I knew would now be collectable.

The man would walk up and in the most friendly way explain what had happened. He would tell us that the house had been an experiment, and that now the house was in one of the boxes he was holding in his hands. I found it difficult to reconcile the large house's being in the small toy box, but since the man was an alien, I thought it might be possible. The man would then tell us he intended to give the boxes, and therefore the house, to his children as toys with which they could play.

The whole story seemed rather far-fetched, but I was still satisfied with it. Mostly I was just relieved no one would be killed by the house crashing down the mountain.

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