She had heard that sleep may have an analogous influence. “Go to sleep on a problem,” Mr J. L. B. Matekoni had as soon as recommended her, “and within the morning you could have your resolution. it usually works. ” He had then proceeded to explain how he had long gone to sleep puzzling over why a slightly advanced diesel engine wouldn't hearth and had dreamed that evening of unfastened connections within the solenoid. “And while I obtained to the storage that morning,” he stated, “there it was—a very undesirable connection, which I changed. The engine fired straightaway. ” in order that was once what he dreamed approximately, idea Mma Ramotswe. Diesel engines. Solenoids. gasoline pipes. Her goals have been really diverse. She usually dreamed of her father, the overdue Obed Ramotswe, who have been the sort of sort guy, and a loving one; a guy whom every person revered simply because he used to be this type of high quality pass judgement on of 1 1 four A l e x a n d e r M c C a l l S m i t h livestock, but in addition simply because he confirmed in all his activities the honour which have been the hallmark of the Motswana of the old-fashioned. Such males knew their worthy, yet didn't flaunt it. Such males might glance anyone within the eye with no flinching; even a negative guy, a guy with not anything, might stand upright within the presence of these who had wealth or strength. humans didn't recognize, Mma Ramotswe felt, simply how a lot we had in these days—those days after we looked as if it would have so little, we had rather a lot. She considered her father, the father as she known as him, each day. And while she had these desires at evening, he was once there, as though he had by no means died, even supposing she knew, even within the dream, that he had. someday she could sign up for him, she knew, no matter what humans stated approximately how we got here to an finish once we took our final breath. a few humans mocked you should you stated that you just joined others while a while got here. good, they can snort, these shrewdpermanent humans, yet we without doubt needed to desire, and a existence with out wish of any style used to be no lifestyles: it was once a sky with out stars, a panorama of sorrow and vacancy. If she inspiration that she could by no means back see Obed Ramotswe, then it'll make her shiver with loneliness. because it was once, the idea that he used to be looking at gave a texture and continuity to her existence. And there has been someone else she could see someday, she hoped—her child who had died, that small baby with its palms that had grasped so tightly round hers, whose respiring was once so quiet, just like the sound of the breeze within the acacia bushes on an almost-still day, a tiny sound. She knew that her child was once with the past due kids in no matter what position it used to be that the overdue kids went, someplace over there, past the Kalahari, the place the light white livestock allowed the kids to trip upon their backs. And while the overdue moms got here, the kids could flock to them and they'd name to them and take them of their fingers. That was once what she was hoping, and it used to be a wish worthy having, she felt. yet this used to be a time for making lists, now not for dreaming, and B L U E S H O E S A N D H A P P I N E S S 1 1 five she sat at her table and wrote down on a bit of paper, so as in their precedence, a few of the concerns which involved her.