It’s something about a dream…a Miracle or a Curse…whatever do they mean?

Should you worry if the dream is doom and gloom or can you apply that ‘dreams go by opposites’ which works well for a dream where everything goes wrong…you encounter obstacle after obstacle… but what about those happy dreams…does it mean you’re doomed and Karma is going to get ya???

Goes without saying,  Momma and Wonder Boy will have a perfectly normal day and then, out of the blue, bold as brass, RIP Daddy parachutes in to their dreams, then sky-rockets out, without leaving a clue about whether it is just:

• A friendly visit, hi, how are you, I’m fine, just fine                                                     (like he always professed on the Earth plane)
• A message of good tidings to come
• A warning of catastrophe ahead
• Don’t worry be happy…I-got-your-back

One night Momma was woken from her sleep by a type of movement she could hear but not see. In a state of semi consciousness she moved out of her room and noticed the television flickering in the living room.  Wonder Boy was sitting on the couch, one eye glued to his tablet, the other looking at the TV screen…a very usual occurrence…except RIP Daddy was sitting in his easy chair, the recliner, eyes glued to the television screen, his face as serious as a judge. 

Momma whispered and motioned, ‘Wonder Boy, look at RIP Daddy, sitting in his chair’…but the words were barely spoken and RIP Daddy was Gone.Baby.Gone., evaporating before her very eyes.  To Momma the dream was so real, the next day she asked Wonder Boy had it really happened… uh, that would be no Momma…it was all in your head.

Why was RIP Daddy’s face so long and serious…what else could befall them in a world of catastrophes?  Who knew?  Better to cross your fingers and have faith that it was just the family reuniting again, by powers beyond our comprehension, even for a few seconds.

Momma is not alone, trying to analyse the complexity of dreams that include RIP Daddy.  Wonder Boy gets regular visitations which confound him (and, being so logical,  he is not an easily confounded type).  The most recent dream Wonder Boy was beset by obstacles…his phone was hacked…which was leading him to breakdown point.  Wonder Boy went to the kitchen for breakfast. Momma was using the micro wave, RIP Daddy had the toaster oven so all Wonder Boy could do was make toast… the toaster caught on fire, spreading quickly to a basket on the table. 

Always the Hero, RIP Daddy grabbed the burning basket, ran outside and through it in the snow bank.  Wonder Boy woke up, so confused and spent from dream that it took a while to drift back to sleep…but when he did, there was RIP Daddy, above his head, to his left in a perfectly clear bubble, young, healthy and tanned, smiling beatifically at him.

So please, for the Love of God, we implore you…what does it mean?  Is RIP Daddy not really resting-in-peace but worrying that his family on earth still need him to survive.  Or is RIP Daddy telling Wonder Boy and Momma, ‘I am there for you…yesterday, today, forever’ but for now we’ll …. 

Sleep with one eye open…Gripping our pillows tight…Exit: light…Enter: night…Take our hands…                  We’re off to Never Never Land …           (Paraphrase Metallica).

Remember  Misfit Molly? She surely had no clue the firestorm she would ignite when she listed the Judge as a member in good standing in the Secret Society of Scryers. 

To be or not to be (as Shakespeare would say) a Judge in the country…. Let me tell you, may God have mercy on his (her) very Soul. You don’t only have all the criminal cases from the town where the courthouse resides, but all the villages that are in a hundred mile or so radius….so you don’t need to look for trouble…because, well, trouble finds you…. 

Now all of these towns jockey and compete for any industry or shopping center, the local high schools try to decimate each other on the basketball court, the football field, the hockey rink…all out war, all the time…but when it came to the Ivy League educated Judge, every member on the county were on the same side…any Judge that sent someone’s First Cousin Twice Remove to prison on a trumped-up charge was a dirty judge.

How did they know?   Well, if you had ears to hear and eyes to see knew it was the Mayor’s son that was guilty….but he had been accepted in to his own Ivy League College and it could ruin not only his future but his father’s chance of re-election. And the Judge and the Mayor were both in the Rotary Club, the Golf Club…the Brotherhood of I’ll Stick Up For Yours If You’ll Stick Up For Mine.

Those country folks may not have been booked learned but they knew a thing or two about a thing or two.  If the Judge had used the Secret Society of Scryers divinations to find a fall guy, then let him sit through an investigation and trial…put the shoe on the other foot, so to speak, Cinderella.

No one even remembered what the charge was…some said the offence was stealing the provincial flag from the local arena, replacing it with a Maple Leaf Forever.  Indictable Offense, for sure.

Others said some gravestones of some executive’s family were knocked over …well, freaking tall and wide monuments, to be exact, erected so everyone could remember how important they were, how rich they were, in comparison to the rest of the have-nots.

It was not like the Judge had an easy time with the moonshine boys, the petty thievery, the almost assaults in the bar room brawls…if that wasn’t enough, there were some men who came to court, no charges against them and begged to be put in jail all winter so they could have three square meals and a roof over their head.  The snow really piled up in this county while Arctic Vortexes hovered…so a well thought out long-range plan was essential to exist.

Not that First Cousin Twice Removed would come to no harm in jail with this more toothless than tough crowd who wouldn’t even recognize a gang member if they met him in their soup.  Still, it was the  injustice of ‘lock him up’ (Right, Hillary?) while the Mayor’s son skated freely through life that just burned the country folk to the bone.

So it came to pass, the highest court in the province found a Lady Judge who was worthy of being harassed by a bevy of folks as vocal and mad as Banty  Hens and Coc-A-Doodle-Doo Roosters. 

Lord Have Mercy on Her Soul!

So Momma and I,  we have lots in common but in some areas we are stone cold different – like, a big one, her pursuit of the unknown, seeking answers, like she is doing a scientific study that is going to end up winning a Nobel Peace Prize.   Get over it Momma.  Roll with the punches.

For instance, I will be sitting in the living room, catching forty winks and RIP Daddy comes sauntering in and kindly, but firmly tells me to get out of his chair.  I mean, I love you, RIP Daddy, but the rules have changed.  Momma and I share that chair now.  I do a low growl to protest, Momma comes running to make sure I am not manhandling the tattle tale, Diva Calico Gen, but there is no one or thing Momma can see so  she asks me what’s the problem?

Oh yeah, Momma does not share that X-ray eye vision so can not see RIP Daddy in Real Time. What’s with that?  I mean RIP Daddy hangs around a lot, in the sun porch, out in the backyard and he is often in his bedroom, watching TV, switching from CNN to Fox to MSNBC and just like when he was with us, he is lulled in to dream land by the opinionated talking heads.  Sometime when I see him there, I whimper for Momma to put me on the bed beside him and I take a nap alongside him.

And it is not only me.  The cats see RIP Daddy too.  The Two Footed feel his presence, but that is where it ends. Momma says the organist from her church told her that as soon as he heard RIP Daddy died, he got a prompt from sources unknown, that there was a certain hymn that had to be played to make the funeral official.  The amazing part was that the organist and RIP Daddy had never talked to each other before in their life.  Their relationship was based on seeing each other at church dinners since RIP Daddy was not much of a church-going type.  Go figure.

But not Momma.  Oh, she tries.  She talks to him as she works.  He remains silent and distant, like an iceberg on a distant shore. No, for Momma, RIP Daddy only comes alive in her dreams. The funny thing is, Momma will drift off one night and meet up with a twenty-some RIP Daddy….and you guessed…she is that age group, as well.  They will talk about things, long ago forgotten leaving Momma waking up, believing that the here and now is really the days long gone.

The dreams Momma like the most is RIP Daddy stepping in to today’s reality, discussing what the heck is happening in the Middle East, isn’t the neighbor’s baby a doll and how many did you say were coming for Christmas dinner?  Momma says there is an ebb and flow to those conversations that you can step in and out with ease. Those were the days, oh yes, those were the days.

Still, Momma, being a woman and all, never satisfied with what she’s got, wants the threshold that I have, being able to see RIP Daddy in physical form, while she is in a conscious state. I don’t see it happening any time soon.

When you don scientific spectacles, you can miss the ethereal reality that there just some things that are inexplicable.  I know one sure thing.  If I get to Heaven before Momma, I am not going to willingly let another doggy share RIP Daddy’s chair with her.  I got a plan.  Just wait till you hear it.