Thickening
Dreams thicken my sleep.
Grandmother, too young, alive
And speaking English.
My father's mother only spoke French, River Canard French, rural and uneducated. Her English was rudimentary. She was mostly bedridden since before I was born, and I hardly remember her sitting up, walking only when I was very small. There were many reasons given for this, including a hip surgery in her 70s, at a time when this wasn't a safe course for someone younger. There were lots of pills, and whispers of cancer, and the surety that she would not make it through the summer, through the winter. I suspect she was sick from being in bed too much, although I never questioned it at the time. She lived to be 98, cared for by her daughter, the aunt of mine I most disliked. She died when I was 22.
I have very little feeling for her, good or bad. She was a non-entity, who called me June. Given that I was the only granddaughter, and only one of three grandchildren, it probably says a lot about how children were seen on that side of the family. I have no rancor about this, a matter of no real consequence to me. So, why was I dreaming of her, as a middle aged woman speaking to me kindly and in good English?
Grandmother, too young, alive
And speaking English.
My father's mother only spoke French, River Canard French, rural and uneducated. Her English was rudimentary. She was mostly bedridden since before I was born, and I hardly remember her sitting up, walking only when I was very small. There were many reasons given for this, including a hip surgery in her 70s, at a time when this wasn't a safe course for someone younger. There were lots of pills, and whispers of cancer, and the surety that she would not make it through the summer, through the winter. I suspect she was sick from being in bed too much, although I never questioned it at the time. She lived to be 98, cared for by her daughter, the aunt of mine I most disliked. She died when I was 22.
I have very little feeling for her, good or bad. She was a non-entity, who called me June. Given that I was the only granddaughter, and only one of three grandchildren, it probably says a lot about how children were seen on that side of the family. I have no rancor about this, a matter of no real consequence to me. So, why was I dreaming of her, as a middle aged woman speaking to me kindly and in good English?
Labels: dream, parents, Pathetic poetry.
Posted by Zhoen on Saturday, August 27, 2011
5 comments:
One meets the most unlikely people in dreams. I've spent part of the night with colleagues I haven't thought about for years....surfaced from some bit of neuron firing or other!
On the other hand, if one took a psychoanalytical approach..........
(o)
I've had unusual dreams like that, usually with something being said that sticks with me when I awaken, something that I puzzle over for a bit.
Rarely does it make sense.
RR,
Oh, no psychoanalysis, certainly not. Just wondering what spawned this image. She's just not someone I think of. Maybe I saw someone who looked like that, and my mind made the connection in my dream.
Crow,
I think it's good to ponder these random experiences, if only because it's good to think in different ways.
(o)
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