First classes yesterday were pretty good, except during my afternoon class (on Zoom), my cell phone rang (which I keep nearby to watch the time) and I turned it off. I noticed quickly that the number was 845 area code and I thought I'd call them back after class. Moments later, my house phone started ringing. A couple months ago, we had to upgrade to Verizon home phone, and now a computer voice says the number (and if it is spam, which is awesome). The voice said "845-657 (rest of number)." In my distracted state, I thought I heard a familiar number that I HAD to answer. 

 I apologized to the students, turned off the mic, answered the phone, and the caller wasn't who I expected. It was someone getting out the vote with a number very similar to a family member's. The caller must have phoned the Samsonville house, gotten my Castleton number and my cell phone number (which are on the message) -- and proceeded to call both! Problem is, I am not registered to vote in Olive, but what irritated me (besides the interruption) was that the person got huffy and argued with me about whose number it was (I have had the Samsonville number for over 20 years) and where I live! When I got back on Zoom, I was not focused. Thankfully class was almost over. 

I shared this on Facebook, and the response was all about robo-calls. I get too many of those too, and it is an outrage. But that wasn't what this was -- this was a persistent very rude real person with a number almost like my brother's. I didn't want to put that on Facebook because I think I know who the woman is and some of my HS friends would know as well.

Two nights ago I had two dreams. The first featured my in-laws. I didn't see my father-in-law, but knew he was there. My mother-in-law was a stronger presence, and she was laughing, which is appropriate, because she always did. They were sitting on a couch somewhere, watching television. Bob was going in and out of the room. The program they were watching was a documentary we'd watched the night before, "My name is Lopez."

The second dream took place outside, with a large field on one side, and on the other, down a small steep hill, an open space surrounded by evergreen trees. My father and some others were there, although I'm not completely sure who the others were; they could have been my brothers, but as with my FIL, it wasn't a strong impression. There was light, patchy snow on the ground, and my father was dressed for winter. The group was looking at a utility truck, something like a delivery truck such as the Kwik Kanteen. My father was talking, loudly, strong voice. He turned and walked up the little hill, and I thought, does he need help? Should I get a cane? But he didn't seem to need it.

 The semester starts Monday. My first class is Tuesday.😢

I am so annoyed by the latest CDC guidance. Obviously they are driven by political motivation. After hearing the confusing information reported on the news, the next day's story walked it back a little. Still, way to go, empowering idiots. I know more people getting COVID than ever before. Granted none have died but who wants to get sick? I am continuing as I was, staying away from people, eating outside, masking. Someone called Bob a weirdo for wearing a mask in a convenience store a few weeks ago. Lovely. Better a weirdo than a cretin. Jerk.

The night before last, I had another dream featuring my father. This dream wasn't very long. I had several get well cards and I was trying to decide which one to give him. He was in bed, in some sort of facility with the same "flavor" as the train or bus station Sophie and I were in last week. When I saw him, he was talking -- loudly, fluently just like before the tumor re-growth. I was amazed and kept asking people why no one told me he'd recovered.

 I've wanted to write here several times since my last post a few weeks ago, but there is never any time. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself because it's almost impossible to get a couple hours off, much less a day off. I think it is more obvious to me now that Bob has retired. I have chosen the academic schedule, I have chosen to teach in the summer, I have chosen the position I have, and unfortunately, it is adjunct. I can hear my father saying, "it's not a bad way to make a living."

One thing I never shared here was his last visit. On July 3 I dreamed that we were standing at the sink in his kitchen. There were two small coffee makers on the counter. One was the Black & Decker Brew and go that he and my mother have been using for a few years; the other was another single cup coffee maker like Gevalia. He was telling me in great detail why he wanted me to return the Gevalia. It was so realistic!

Last week, another letter from hospice came. It upsets me when I receive a letter from them. Not that it reminds me that daddy died. It is the first thing I think of every morning. I miss him so much. On the 10th, it was seven months that he's been gone. As I prepare my syllabi for the looming semester, I tick off the dates, months, semesters, looking forward, looking back, and this upset me. For instance: A year ago he was alive. Three years ago, he was fine. In two months, on October 10, it will be nine months.

A couple of nights ago, I had a long dream about Sophie! I do think of her often, but she died over 10 years ago, so it was a surprise. The former dean from several years ago was in it too, which was odd. It took place in a train station or airport or someplace like that. It was a good dream -- wonderful to see Sophalina, I am left with a clear image of those huge paws - but so strange!