Dreams and Portents?

As I write, I am surrounded by chaos, otherwise known as packing and the animals are nervous. Buster is behind me, lying on the bed looking suspicious while Moll is in the yard sitting on the table, keeping an eye on me while I write in case I make a run for it. We’re only going to my mother’s for the weekend, and most of the clobber is the dog’s. Bowls (2), toys (box of), bed, food (biscuits and tins of, water etc. Rather like having a baby, though at least I don’t have to worry about baby wipes, nappies and change of clothes. After all, Moll is a teenager now.

The journey to Devon takes most people two hours, but for us it’s at least four given stops for a) Mollie’s bladder, b) mine and c) walks for Moll. Today it’ll take even longer as Himself wants to stop in Plymouth to see a secondhand music shop to see if he can sell his lovely old cornet. If anyone reading this is interested in buying a cornet, get in touch quickly. It’s silver, was made in East Germany in the 1950s and is in excellent condition, having been lovingly cared for all its life. With this extra stop, I reckon it’ll take us about 5 hours.

My mother asked us to go up ‘as it’s my wedding anniversary.’ I agreed feeling somewhat unnerved. My father died over 25 years ago. I don’t even dream about him any more.

This morning I woke up at 4.30 with a hot flush – or flash, as my sister in law from Vermont calls them. Much more descriptive. I’d been dreaming about one of my brothers who knew he was dying from cancer. As you can imagine, I was terrified. He didn’t look like my brother – why is it that people in dreams rarely do, or is it just me? But I knew that it was him and he was worried about what was going to happen. Unsurprisingly.

I told Himself who said, ‘Christ, Flowerpot! Can’t you dream about something proper like romping sex?’
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll try and get my thoughts in order next time.’

As I lay there with the duvet off, sweating, while my heart beat returned to normal I wondered - where do dreams come from? Was this an omen of something terrible that was due to happen to my poor bro? I thought of him and the three children, his wife, the worries that they’ve had already. I pictured helping to bring up the children, supporting a distraught sister in law. I couldn’t imagine my life without either of my brothers. Not that we see much of each other, but we’re always there for each other. What would I do minus a sibling?

Then I realised that in the book I’m reading – Wicked by Jilly Cooper – one of the nicer teachers has an inoperable tumour on his back. Phew! After that, there was no hope of getting back to sleep but at least my bro is saved.