Lettuce entertain you.
The school of duh.
Buh bye Summer
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Frought with emotion.
I rarely remember my dreams unless I'm woken up mid rem cycle. Last night it was my dream that woke me up, guaranteeing its place in my conscious memory.
There was a second floor balcony on a sort of New Orleans style building. Two friends of mine - I don't know who they were, though I suppose I must have in the dream - were urging me up to the balcony to proselytize to the people below on the street. I didn't really want to; I didn't know what to say.
When I reached the balcony, I started telling people about the importance of Rosh Hashanna, and Yom Kippur. But a few words into my improvised, heartfelt speech, the friends flanking me started shouting out to the people what it was I was trying to say. Only it wasn't what I was trying to say. It was like a game of telephone where once person says something, and repeaters change it until it's unrecognizable. These folks were doing that before I even had the words out of my mouth. And they were louder.
I wasn't mad about it, I just kinda stopped talking. Why try to out shout someone? As I stood on the balcony, I realized I could see onto a rooftop below. There was my paternal grandfather sitting among chaos. There was broken furniture and all sorts of debris around him. He was sitting in a small chair, holding an old black & white photograph of my young, skinny grandmother with my six or seven year old father on her lap. I had to be there, and since it's a dream, I was.
My memory is fuzzy from there. I remember him, I remember the smell of Old Spice, I remember the photograph, and I remember waking up while dreaming that my head was in the lap of someone - my mom? my dad? my grandmother? - crying deeply with my whole body, "I miss my grandfather," over and over again.
It was nice, since he died a few years ago and I haven't cried yet.
posted by hilary at 9:05 AM |
Links to this post: