My diet has been pretty good considering the trip from Florida back to Elk Rapids was trying. Long trip. Dad passed out in a restaurant, refused to get checked out in the hospital, and the emergency people thought he was ok. He got so weak he had to pee by the side of the car. He’s been better since he got rest and fluids here. But I have a week’s research upcoming on his being eligible for medicaid at some point, getting help when I have to leave, and worrying now that the golf cart bubble car (road ready) might not be a good idea at all for him. Parkinson’s makes blood pressure fluctuate often (passing out and falls common as well), and all that is percolating in my head.
I’m not sure exactly what about my dreams upset me. First I dreamed I received a letter from my writer friend/mentor. He used to love to write letters and embed comics or pictures into them–before email communication became common between us–something he abhors. It was written on ivory paper and the typescript was some kind of embossed gold. I can’t remember what the letter said, though I remember thinking I’d type something back, but couldn’t find materials of equivalent quality. Then he was leading a writer’s retreat or possibly it was a fishing retreat–he loves both–lots of people gathered there. He kept asking me why I didn’t have my gear, sleeping bags, or tents or something I was supposed to have. I vaguely feel like my handicapped son was with me, by my side, and I just wouldn’t answer him–I knew I couldn’t go. But I just said nothing and this asking/not answering seemed to go on all night. He seemed very concerned about this and finally offered to write me when he got back and that we would have dinner soon–something we do periodically. His wife often comes with him, but she’s been ill lately, I know. She wasn’t in the dream. Then I dreamed this woman was making a sort of rustic camp out in some sort of wilderness. It was very rustic, corrugated metal siding, but she was installing two very beautiful wood craftsman doors on it. The wood was rich and stained a medium brown. Like one I had on my home in Romeo years ago. It seemed to work somehow and she was pleased about it. No idea who she was.
But for some reason, these dreams made me very very sad. I guess because I couldn’t write the letter I wanted to and I couldn’t go on the retreat, but most of all, I couldn’t communicate any of it. I suppose that was the thing. I’m a writer. A writer who can’t communicate. Not that any of us ever really can I suppose.
It was cloudy when I woke up, sleeping in this chair outside my dad’s room.–Next weekend I’ll have a master suite situation here with a real bed in it. The chair was not uncomfortable at all the last two nights–better than the couch, so don’t think that is it. But as I made coffee, the church bells rang across the street, a sound that is both comforting and sad, somehow. And it’s now 9:41 as I sip it and my dad is still asleep. He does this once in a while and must be very tired from the trip home, but for most of his life, my dad was up at 6 or 7 latest, sometimes earlier; he’s a morning person, while I am not. My mother really was not either.
By around noon, my husband will head downstate and leave us alone together–Dad and me–to negotiate a new arrangement in our lives. Living together again. I’m content to be here–it’s something I planned on for a long time. And Elk Rapids is a place we have had family roots since the mid-1800’s when my great great grandfather first had a blacksmith shop right near where this house stands, where my great grandfather ran the last steamboat that ran in Elk, Torch, Clam Lakes, the chain o’lakes, and where my great-uncle, an alcoholic, ran the drey service.
It’s a town I love.
The town has picked my book as the community read and I’ll do a reading here in July at the library and possibly other venues. And now I am close for those obligations.
But I guess the dreams were unsettling because I couldn’t communicate–anything, it seemed. I should be revising my fantasy novel, doing a bit more research first and it’s hard to say if that will happen at all.
But I’ll watch my diet, get hydrated up myself (long trip), no wine during the week. Needed a bit to unwind last night (and to watch MSU play so dismally). But my mood is better the healthier I stay.
But happy Sunday! Perhaps my dreams were less “sad” than reflective. After all, I just communicated this much!!