I had a dream-filled sleep last night, presumably because I was sleeping in a different bed chez the Youngest of the Darling Daughters.
The first dream involved a stay
in a nameless hotel, in an unspecified holiday location, with my friend Eleanor. We have never been on holiday together but I suppose there is always a first time, even if it is only in my dreams. Notably, we went down to dinner in the evening to find that
there was no food available. Apparently, according to the member of hotel staff we accosted, this was because it was a "Purple Week". Only in my dreams! They could, they offered, rustle us up a makeshift meal out of pieces of left over pork and sage sausages
(yes, we did eat sausage casserole last night, so I know where that came from) but we politely declined and went to the cinema. Wow, we know how to have fun!
Fast forward and in the next scene of my dream,
I am in hospital. Presumably suffering from malnutrition, on account of Purple Week. My friend Hilary from cribbage turns up, which is lovely because she died a few weeks ago and in my dream she is hale and hearty as I haven't seen her for months and months.
I love it when people who have passed on decide to pass back via my dreams.
I often dream about my dear Mum and Dad - it's the best way to feel still in touch with them. In my dreams they are almost always
the age they were when I was young. My Mum will be reading "The Forsaken Merman" to my sister Maggie and me ("the sea grows lonely, the little ones moan," my sister and I would chime in with the merman's oft-repeated lament.) My Dad will be out on the football
field or soaring over the bar of the high jump with an elegant scissors action - the invention of the Fosbury flop was many years in the future. I remember, as a very small child, watching him fail to clear the bar on one occasion and wailing noisily that
it wasn't fair because the bar had been set too high. My parents dined out on that one for days.
Last night's dreams were all new to me; often I have recurring dreams which date back as far as I can remember.
One location is a hospital, another a graveyard and I know my way round both which is pretty good going for One With No Sense of Direction. Neither hospital nor graveyard are morbid places but, rather, filled with serenity and hope. I never mind it when my
dreams take me to either place; it's a bit like visiting a town from the past and enjoying the feeling of cosy familiarity of well-known landmarks.
My favourite recurring dream takes me up on to the
roof-top of a house, watching the stars in the midnight sky. Considering my irrational fear of heights, it is surprising that, in my dream, I clamber among the rafters of the loft and out of a sky-light onto the roof like a seasoned mountaineer. As I said
before, only in my dreams. I am invariably alone on these excursions though on one occasion I took my eldest grand-daughter, Katie, with me. Mr B was slightly offended when I relayed this information to him. "You've never taken me there," he complained.
We are here, with the Youngest of the Darling Daughters and her family to celebrate Young Jack's 17th birthday. His actual birthday is on Tuesday but it's a college day so we are having a pre-birthday celebration, with
presents and a dinner out tonight. Yesterday was a mad day, transporting youngsters to and from dancing classes, health and safety training sessions ("we mostly ate chocolate brownies," admitted Hazel) and parties.
I never mind the coming and going because the Y of the DDs and I have lots of interesting conversations in the car en route to wherever we are going and, anyway, I like to experience something of my children's lives. It helps me think about them and
what they are up to when I am back home. Tomorrow afternoon the Middle of the Darling Daughters is arriving with her trio (Faris and the twins). We will have to try to persuade Faris not to climb the newly installed Christmas tree which Mr B and the Son in
Law carried home in triumph yesterday.
Family time. Living the dream.