Dead Relative Society

Post tummy-sick day, complete with Pedialyte and minimal solids; I reluctantly taught my dance class and lumbered to bed. I settled in nicely considering the 3 hour nap from earlier in the day. Usually a nap means no sleep that night, but obviously I needed the extra down time. I turned on the reading light while Anya crawled over my head and book demanding to be the center of attention. She pointed to the black cuneiform on the pages, and when I said it was a big girl book she said, "Oh," and proceeded to lay upon it. I can only assume she was not amused by the dull pages her mommy attempted to devour.

I realized reading was not an option since Anya refused to curl up and sleep. Off with the mini light, page bookmarked and glasses to the head board. Snuggle. No you can’t pull my hair. Twinkle, twinkle little star…snore. Glasses, light, book, yay. I finished my first book in years. Coming from a previous English Master’s student I am a shamed of myself for letting life come between me and my secret lives. I am reclaiming my imagination. I am refusing the lure of the internet and TV after hours. I want to set an example for Anya. Soon I hope to read her more than 3 word books and bring her into my world of lands and people from beyond our backdoor.

I was hoping to watch The Good Wife before I called it a night, but I wanted to dwell in the new land a bit longer. The end of a book makes me sad…I’m usually not ready to leave my new friends and their home so soon: this was no exception. I drifted off considering their lives post The End.

I used to always remember my dreams. Actually, I typically kept a dream journal. I ran out of energy to track my mysterious grey matter encoding and decided that I should enjoy the blank memory or exciting adventure each morning. Last night got my attention. Of course the further removed I am from my REM time, the less clear and accurate my memory becomes. I’ve had time now to analyze and wonder and I note a whisper down the lane effect on the events already. But I must take a moment to jot down what is left. Perhaps it means nothing, or maybe later I will look back and understand.

Enter an enormous hall, like a banquet facility, and it had at least two rooms and a long hallway, non-descript walls papered a burnt sienna and round tables covered in white table cloths dotted with coffee cups, white napkins and what appeared to be the end of dessert. The tables were packed and all I could hear was the murmur of a room full of chatter. I couldn’t make out everyone, but I knew all those present. I found myself drawn to a table where my Yiayia Irene and Thea Foto were sitting. They seemed younger than I remember and they were both so happy to see me. I can’t remember them saying anything specific, but I know I see their mouths moving and they are smiling. For a split second I note I may be dreaming, after all our relationship with Thea Foto post dad’s death was the equivalent to Siberian exile. I recall going to hug them, but never actually doing so, and sitting down with them exclaiming how happy I was to see them and how well they looked. I also, strangely, recall placing an obvious baby doll in front of Thea Foto and her fawning all over it, but it had no name, and was definitely a newborn stand in.

I stood up and saw Uncle George A. seated at a table not far away. He seemed larger than life and I could hear his booming laughter. He turned to me and waved and I felt warm and safe. I can distinctly say this was a gathering of the Pappas clan, although my father was curiously absent. If I saw him sometime in my dream his image is lost now. I know I walked around and said, “Hello,” to many people that I hadn’t seen since they travelled on. I remember thinking how strange. I don’t remember any of my family from my mother’s side there, and thought that may be strange as well. I believe now is when I begin to understand I must be dreaming or why was I dining with dead relatives.

At this point the “feeling” of comfort and security fade away and I am in a hallway off the room. There are tables set up with big pictures of vacation homes and bright and showy advertisements. I immediately understand this to be a time share and a scam for all those present. I’m a bit panicked now and running around the place saying, “No, tell these people to go away. Don’t talk to them.” And I wake up when everyone is telling me trust the time share folks and to sign up too.

When I woke up I wasn’t afraid or even disturbed. I was fascinated about the Dead Relative Society that I visited during my sleep. I’m not sure that it means anything at all. It is just so strange to have seen and remembered some specific people, and wonder why certain people were absent or part of the blurry murmurs. I hope this is not a portent and I am curious what warning it may be. My unconscious mind hasn’t spoken in so long; I forgot it had opinions of its own. Perhaps I just woke up a long dormant part of my mind with the book I read.