Left to my own devices

The dream recurs on at least a semi-monthly basis, always a mixture of familiarity with alarming disorientation. From the very first time the dream occurred, I felt at home within the small New England church. And, for whatever reason, I immediately understood where I was. Starting in an abrupt stupor, I was immediately seated roughly two-thirds from the altar, in about the tenth pew toward the back. The rustic church was made mostly of wood, some of it stained, other parts (such as the beams and rafters) painted a gleaming white. There was stone, too. You could tell it was before a service was to begin. People were milling about, generally making their way into the structure. Somehow, I knew the location, but not why I suddenly found myself there. This caused some considerable consternation, as you might imagine it would. The church looked to be like what I imagine those centuries-old old Protestant churches are like in New England, hence the sense of knowing where I was, o...

My father has had three funerals. The third (though perhaps not final) one, was last night. In reality, Lewis died in 1997. Cancer. Aged 52. He had a real funeral. I was there. The next two funerals occurred only in my dreams, yet they seemed real at the time, and their impact during the waking hours was keenly felt. You see, during the intervening nineteen years, Lewis has come back to life in my dreams, many times. It is more than simply having a dream about him. During these nighttime images, it is noted that Lewis shouldn't be there, that he died of cancer and is resting six feet under. How, then, could he be alive and, seemingly, healthy?

The dreams all have a common theme, that of escapism. In them, I am unfettered by the intricacies and complexities of modern life. Responsibilities are, for the most part, cast aside. There is a sense of freedom, or at least of one of the elusive definitions of what freedom could be. Also, sometimes, a sense of chaos (which can provide its own freedom, of sorts). What works in the dreams wouldn't likely work very well in waking life, but they do provide a nice diversion from the every day world.

I had the dream again last night. It's been recurring at least on a monthly basis, taking place primarily in the small town of Weldon, IL , at the former home of my great-uncle and great-aunt Robert and Betty. The plot of the dreams are always loosely the same: I am there at the house. Robert and Betty are not. Sometimes, I have invited folks from Champaign to come visit the abode in Weldon (roughly 40 minutes away), and am hosting a party there. The house is almost always bigger in the dreams than in reality. In the real world, it's a fairly standard structure. There's a living room, main bedroom on the ground floor, kitchen, bathrooms, front porch, upstairs area with more bedrooms, and then.... an addition was built on (with help from my dad), and it consisted of a huge family room and attached garage. A wooden porch runs along the back of the house. I remember it was home to a plethora of stray kitties, as Betty would always gladly put out food for them. Behind t...

I had the dream again last night. There are, perhaps, two-to-three dreams about my father that are played on regular rotation throughout the year. My mind selects them (for what reasons I do not know) every 6 months or so. Last night saw the return of the ' Old Lewis ' dream, as I like to call it. The events play-out in fairly similar fashion each time: dad is still alive, older (the age he'd be today), and I visit with him for a few days at a time. They seem pretty realistic in the light of day, save for the fact that Lewis is, in reality, dead. It's odd, but the dreams are set in present day, with me being a 38-year-old adult, however they almost always have me leaving mom's house, waving goodbye to her like some overly-excited schoolboy, as I depart for dad's house for the next few days. It's like the visits with dad I had in my teens, except I wasn't too happy about those at the time.

Twitter-friend Paula is having another round of Future Classic Movies today, with folks making their selections as to what films, from 2000-present, they think will be considered classics in the decades to come. Last month when Paula had this most excellent topic, I chose the 2002 film The Hours . Today, my choice is the 2003's Northfork . I am less certain that it will become a classic, but it definitely should, if there is any justice in the world.

Some of the details vary, but the place is always the same. At least, the interior is. Outside it is similar, but slightly different. Sometimes the street is very narrow, perhaps just room for two very small Euro cars and a bicycle. Brick, of course. Other times, it's a wide, concrete expanse with thick, old trees whose leaves overhang the thoroughfare. But the buildings are often similar: row houses, bistros, closely-built downtown-like structures with low roofs. This sort of setting is where the hotel always finds itself.

Dreams and life. Life and dreams. They intertwine to create a mood sometimes and, this weekend, the mood was not the best. This isn't the first time I've written about the after effects of a dream, and it likely won't be the last. Apologies if it becomes tedious, but I ask you to please indulge me.

I'm not a superstitious person. I don't believe in ghosts, nor in the effects of black cats or broken mirrors. But I am afraid of the number 52. I dislike it immensely. It is, to me, unlucky. If I ever constructed a building, it very likely wouldn't have a 52nd floor. Why all the hate for this number? Simply put, my dad died at age 52, and it has since become my antagonist. I measure my life as a countdown to that age, to the time when, perhaps, this journey will be at an end.

Aside from being a rather bitter song by John Lennon , the title of this post is a sincere question. How do you sleep, dear reader? Mostly, I'm curious to hear about your bedtime routine (if you have one), and perhaps how soundly you sleep. But mostly the routine. Allow me to explain.