last night i dreamed i was dropping my boys off at their dad’s house. when we entered the home it was like entering a reality warp. it was all ozzy and harriet inside. his girlfriend had soup on the stove and roast in the oven. the house was hotel lobby clean. her dress starched, her apron starched, her hair up in a bun, just a little to tight and high on her head. the soup pot had vegetables that were whole, and larger than usual sticking up over the rim of the pot. a bouquet of carrots, celery, kate greens, whole leeks and garlics, not really cooking down though there was steam rising around them. my kids dad, who was once my husband, was formal and polite as he greeted us and welcomed us into the house. the boys seemed to pass through this warp. upon entering the home their disheveled ways transformed into clean behind the ears, tidied up and buttoned down appearances. they sat quietly and only spoke when spoken to. I was grossly out of place in this environment. everything was unfamiliar, even my own kids. i felt lost and scared and woke trying to convince my children to leave with me.
Alberta sends us:
Returned to grama’s old house in the country
New guesthouse in back yard. It is night, thge windows glow with warmth. behind it, The Woods. I am exuberantly whisper-screaming, sort of to myself “I love the country! I love the country!” I see the forts we built in the backwoods. They are still standing. I see my cousin. There is a 10 foot shallow terra cotta pot with a bit of dirt in the bottom.
“I love the country! I love the country!”
Bob sends us a recurring journey:
I’m traveling in a car in south Minneapolis, near lake Nokomis. Gradually things start to shift, the buildings become older, more electric poles appear, the surroundings become denser and more urban, the street patterns become more twisty and turny, and the streets themselves become narrower with the building closer to the sidewalks.
Then I’m no longer in a car but in a trolley car, and the environment is a old American city, circa 1900. The streets are teaming with people, fruit stalls abound, horses pulling carts in the streets. I get off the trolley and wade through the mud to the sidewalk. This is not a perfect recreation of a 1910 city, there are many inconsistencies: for instance there is a white bank building from the ’60’s; occasionally a 1955 Pontiac, like my dad owned, drives through the muck; some buildings wiggle, like hand drawn film animations. Continue reading
On her first night home from the hospital, the Mr. walked inside with Mrs. and the baby in tow, and he went through and opened all the windows. The Mrs. held the baby close to her breast. The air from the open windows interacted. It got so strong it was rearranging furniture and twisting up the carpet under Mrs. feet.
The baby in her arms lifted up her head in that living room and her eyes found and fixated on the swinging (cluck) of the grandfather clock. Back and forth this long arm went, to and fro and side to side, while the baby slept it’s first sleep wide awake, watching the winds of time set sail.
I dream of dada 