Friday, February 18, 2011
I had long drawn out dream just before dawn this morning. I’d been walking the halls of a huge old mansion, opening doors and looking under tables and beds, on shelves for my ‘stuff’’ that I’d left somewhere. It took hours. I saw other people’s sleeping bags, suitcases, piles of books, but nothing that was mine, that had my name on it. I was wandering around quite desperate, when all of a sudden I was flat on my back on a bed or guerney. A nurse put a newborn baby on my chest, as if I had been in labor and delivered it! I looked down at it’s tiny head, worried I wouldn’t now how to hold it, but I embraced him (I don’t know how but I knew it was a boy), with love.
As I sipped my morning coffee and glanced at the newspaper, I realized that today is Carter’s eleventh birthday! Perhaps it was Lily who was in labor that I hadn’t even felt. Nah, come on Pat. Most dream analyzers tell you to see yourself in every part of a dream. The lost luggage is your lost writings, nothing with your name on it, how obvious can you be? The baby that you don’t know how to care for? Your writing, quiet self.
Perhaps this is a sign to get on with the Invisible Grandparent book, the baby being that project which I’ve pushed out of mind for a couple of months, realizing how incomplete it is.
Time to make Carter’s birthday card & keep doing what you’re doing. Or do a little more, Pat.
See Letter to Carter “Eleven is Huge!”