quartet dream

I had this great dream last night, so good I woke up laughing.
There was a bar-b-que held by a bunch of string quartets in honor of two composer friends of mine, John and Judd. They both had written such great string quartets that we wanted to celebrate them for revivifying (or something) the form. It was my quartet, the Orion, the Pacifica, and the Colorado. Pacifica brought the beer, the Orions brought the meats (lots of big German-looking hot dogs) and we brought the good Mediterranean bread and condiments. The Colorados represented themselves with lots of jars of the smoked trout paste they had developed together as a quartet. The jars had white labels with all their smiling faces printed on the front in blue (Israeli flag, anyone?) and on the back little testimonials from each of them with individual pictures of them: the violinists as a couple. Their quote was how this smoked trout paste had brought them together as a group and also added romance to their relationship (I don't think they're actually a couple). The cellist, Diane, raved about how much her little kid students loved it, but the violist's was the funniest of all: how she'd had problems with depression, but this delicious smoked trout paste had put a new kind of joy into her life, and she recommended it for anyone suffering from mood disorders. Everywhere we went at this barbeque (it was in this big sprawling backyard that looked a lot like my Aunt Susan and Jay's place in Connecticut) there were open jars, but none of us had any idea what to put it on. Definitely not the hot dogs.