More Recent Dreams

I again had a dream about my best friend in high school. I dreamt that my daughter was going to his college and was in one of his art classes. This is not possible in the real world. My “friend” (if you can call a person that after not speaking for 25 years) teaches in a college in the middle of Texas. My daughter wouldn’t go there if she was given several million dollars. My daughter is rather artistic in some ways, but not in his medium, so that’s another issue. I hadn’t been thinking of him, but as I’ve said elsewhere, every so often I’ll have a dream about him. In this one, he was giving my daughter a grade (B) and I was in the hallway. He didn’t know we were related. If he ever did meet my daughter, he’d know. That’s because she’s pretty much an exact mirror image of me, only 35 years younger and a bit prettier.

I also had a dream about one of our employees. I dreamt that he had died. I don’t dislike this employee, so it’s not like I want to see him offed. He’s probably approaching 60 or so, and he’s been loyal enough, honest and trustworthy. However, his game has been a bit off, if you know what I mean. He used to be fairly sharp, but now he’s mind-numbingly tedious. My husband can’t stand to speak with him anymore, and will bolt from the office if he knows this person is coming in. That leaves him to bother the rest of us with his stories we’ve already heard.

I kind of feel sorry for that guy. He’s alone, has no wife or girlfriend (who’d take him?) or children. The economy is rough here, and he gets a lot less hours than he used to, so he’s financially strained. I can see why he’s sort of depressed and a downer to speak with.

I wish I had dreamed of California. I wish I’d have dreamed of hot sex with my husband. I hate dreaming of death.

Beauty in Death

I used to think there was no beauty in death, but I was younger then. I’ve learned a lot since then. There is beauty in all things; even the ugliest of moments have their level of perfection.

They entered the darkened room with muted, tentative steps, laughter and smiles fading into solemn masks that camouflaged tears and dismay. Machinery nearby grunted and squeaked in rhythm, maintaining life by pressing air into lungs that could no longer function. Where once was a long, golden mane, there was now nothing but a smooth, round skull; where once were shining blue eyes that danced and sang, there was now a vacant stare into space. The skin on her hand was a translucent and soft parchment paper, so pale as it separated from the flesh. I touched her long fingers, and the heat of her body seared a permanent reminder into my own hand as I gave it a tender squeeze. Gently I called her name and looked into her face and loosened my fingers for a response, but there was none. I was too late to make small talk; now we could communicate only through touch and sound. I hope she heard me.

Today is My Parents’ Anniversary

They were married today in 1954, 1958, and 1964. Once in a foreign country, once by the US State Department, and once in the Catholic Church.

My father and mother were divorced back in the 1970s, and my mother died fifteen years ago, but he always remembers.

True love never dies.