March 7, 2022 — My paternal grandfather died when my dad was four years old, on June 1, 1934. I know very little about him, although I heard the following story from my grandmother, and it has been passed down for a good reason. Grandpa McVay walked and talked in his sleep. On his wedding night in January 1910, my grandmother woke up to find her new husband missing from the bed. She searched the house, and he was nowhere to be found. Upset, she dressed and went to a neighbor’s house to help find her missing husband.
The neighbor came back with her sheepish husband ten minutes later. Grandpa had fallen asleep, or sleepwalked, to the outhouse where he was discovered. The picture in my mind from this story has him wearing a raccoon coat, but this may be a detail added by my imagination.
Many members of my family have experienced sleep talking and sleepwalking. My brother was particularly agile at the sport. While sleeping in the State Fair barn near his livestock (as was the customer for 4-Hers and may still be), he would get up and walk all over the barn. Someone found him, led him back to his cot, and covered him with a gate so he couldn’t get up. He was ten years old.
To this day, I’ve been known to carry on entire conversations while sound asleep. One day last week, I got up very early and went out into the living room to read the paper. I fell back asleep, and my broker called me at a reasonable hour. All I remember is that he called the words “seven percent.” Unfortunately, we all know that was a declining, not an increasing number, which brings me to the topic of bad dreams.
I will often have a true nightmare, but my dreams are primarily funny little plays of my subconscious.
When I woke up this morning, I immediately remembered a lulu and wrote it down.
My niece will have a baby in June, and her shower, a large affair, is this weekend. She’s registered for several items at an online baby site which I looked at yesterday.
In the dream, her shower takes place in my dorm room circa 1978. The shower is over, and everyone is gone except my husband and me (we’re both our present age) and my father, who is his 1978 age. We are tasked with taking all the presents and putting them in my car, a 1971 Cutlass parked blocks away. I’m sure this is a throwback to my moving in and out of the dorm. This process involved walking from the car blocks away (very little student parking), going to the main entrance of the dorm and waiting for one of two very crowded elevators (because of Moving Day), rising to the sixth floor, and walking through the lobby of televisions, game tables, etc. to a stairwell at the opposite end, going up two flights of stairs and turning right to my room. And reverse the process to take things to the car.
This is a labor-intensive event in the dream, and we do it repeatedly. And as it was most move-in and move-out days, it was steamy hot. We finally finish, and senior citizens Amy and Randy, and middle-aged Bill collapse on the dorm room furniture. Then my brother and his girlfriend show up, stand in the doorway, and look around. My brother says, “Wow, wouldn’t this be a great place to go for a vacation?”
At least I woke up laughing. I have no intention of spending my first post-pandemic vacation in Room 714 of Hurlbut Hall. Been there, done that.