The subconscious is a wonderful thing

Woke up this morning in the midst of a dream about Dad. He had dark blue eyes in the dream. And big black glasses, which disappeared so I could see his blue eyes as he cried. In reality, Dad had hazel eyes, and glasses. The funny part is that he had made his own souped-up wheelchair/gurney so he could sit up and see people eye-to-eye.

In trying to figure out where he came from--and calling me "Little One" to boot, a phrase he never used--I realized when I woke up that today would have been my sister Ellen's 63rd birthday. And then I remembered that I was talking to her on the phone in my dream.

There was much weirdness surrounding all of this: a Frank Gehry-designed college campus, our co-leader for the youth at church, me stepping in to a stage production hours before it was performed, and me-as-Kirstie-Alley stealing food and carrying it 5 blocks for Co-Leader and Ellen.

So, happy birthday, Ellen, and thanks for the appearance to both you and Dad. I miss you.

Obviously.