The Canadian wildfire smoke is awful!

Unrelated: I find the people in the Good Feet Store ads so irritating!!

Toward daylight early this morning, I dreamed of my father again. It was a wonderful dream. I woke up afterwards, which is why I knew when it was. In this dream, he spoke to me. He said my name. When I saw him, I said, "Daddy, how are you?" That's when he said my name, and that he was all right. He was dressed in a light jacket or sweater, as if it was fall. He was wearing glasses. He looked great.

I'm reading this book right now. I'm seven chapters in, and so far it is a good read. My only issue with it, and this isn't really a criticism, is that it's a young adult novel. In recent years I prefer fiction for people like me (in other words, OLD). LOL. Regardless, it's well-written and engaging. I discovered it because everyone in my school at the university is being encouraged to read it, with the suggestion given to faculty to include it in class. Initially, I was reluctant, because the last university-recommended book was awful.

 This story in the news captures my imagination, in a terror-filled, creepy kind of way. I keep thinking, the Titanic claims five more.

An excerpt from my "Mimmie book" that I wrote in 2003, ten years after she died: 

Mimmie didn’t like to go many places, but she did enjoy strawberries picking; in fact, she even liked it more than she feared snakes. In my mind’s eye I can see her, wearing sneakers and a house dress, carefully navigating the rows, carting quarts of perfect berries, making sure that she didn’t step on any plants. She looked frail, but somehow strong at the same time. Mimmie never gave into temptation as the rest of us did, by sampling the berries while out in the field. That was due more to the fact that insects may have been on them at some point, than to a concern about pesticides. And if she discovered later that a bug had gotten into one of her quarts, she’s have to throw the whole thing out.

“Next spring, if I’m alive,” she’d say afterwards, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked off into the distance, as if she could see all the way until the following June, “I’m only going to pick medium sized red-orange ones, instead of ripe ones. They’re rotten by the time you get them home.  And the big ones look nice but they’re tasteless.”

 Strawberry season! They are so good this year!

The idiot who complained about "The Hill We Climb" and other school library materials in FL is quoted: "I’m not an expert,” she said. “I’m not a reader. I’m not a book person." Apparently FL is the right place for someone who wants to raise equally ignorant kids.

 I got the grading done, but really pushed it this semester, finishing with only two hours to spare. I'm writing here today because I want to record again a dream that included my father two nights ago. A bunch of people were around and he was talking -- he was very animated. I was thrilled to hear how glib he was, but I knew he was dead. I clearly remember thinking, "oh, that's what being dead is! He's still here!"

 Up to my eye balls in end of semester grading. It is going pretty well so far. I am writing this post because I wanted to note that I had a dream a few days ago that had my father in it. It was just a glimpse; he was wearing a shirt he wore all the time when he mowed or fixed stuff in the garage. We had no conversation but I surely appreciated the visit.

 While waiting for end of semester assignments to come in, I watched the consultant's report for my alma mater school district (it was impressive) and read a few newspaper articles. I had already read the study months ago. Apparently, the board has voted to close an elementary school, and plans to eventually close another, which will result in a central campus. This is a sensible plan that has many benefits - academic, financial and environmental (including decreased CO2). Closing schools is controversial and painful and invariably fuels irrational thinking. Parent groups are outraged, which I assume means there will be a faction elected to the board in an effort to preserve status quo. The statements made by the parents are idiotic wishful thinking. The demographics are not going to magically reverse - enrollment has been declining for decades and the same tired assertions are made every time change is suggested. The data doesn't lie. Pandemic-fueled Metro transplants are a drop in the bucket. I applaud the board finally being courageous. Hopefully the faction will not be able to reverse course.

 I'm cruising along to the end of the semester. Feeling frustrated, because I never have any time. There is always something else to do. For instance, on Friday when it was warm, I so wanted to sit outside. But I didn't, because there was too much to do. Bob says I'd be a lot less stressed out if I retired. I know he is probably right, but I'm afraid of what would redefine me if I leave my job at the end of 2023 (I'll turn 62 during the Fall semester). I can't risk it.

Last week I had a dream that sort of included my father. My mother was in it, and he kind of wasn't -- but she said he was doing important paperwork.

Getting back to my frustration with time, I so want to have time to do some real writing. I want to say something profound about life. But instead, there are always essays to grade.

 End of semester is so challenging! Before more time passes, I want to note that last week, I had a dream that had Mimmie in it. It was brief. She was peeking around a door that looked like the ones we had in our white house in West Shokan. She looked as she always did. I had this dream the night of 4/12, so Daddy's birthday was the next day, but he wasn't in it. This year is the 30th anniversary of Mimmie's death (April 5). It was good to see her, even if just a glimpse.

I wanted to post at least once before the end of March, and I had plenty of things to write, but my time evaporated. I barely have time for all the things I must do - writing here is not a "must," sadly.

So I am snatching a moment to share this graphic I made last night (it's been forever since I did anything like this). We have an evil creep in the Village who should be shunned but instead the current regime lacks a moral compass and kisses his a*s.

We watched two more movies from this year's Oscars: The Fabelmans (which was awesome) and Elvis (which was a little hard to follow in the beginning, and also it was sad (of course) - but very good overall). Maybe I'll have time to write more after the semester ends.

Finally - I had another dream last week that included my father. There was much more than him in the dream - and I mostly don't remember it - but his presence is still clear. He was in some sort of sales contest that involved a costume. He won (of course). His costume had "May" emblazoned on it. It was referring to the month. What could that mean?

So happy to not be in Florida - or Tennessee!

 We watched "The Whale" earlier this week. I wanted to watch it even before the best actor win. I have no comparison (because I have seen none of the other nominees), so I don't know whether the award was deserved, but it was a good performance in a difficult role. The movie, though, was so dark and disturbing. There was some Hollywood typical POV (anti-religion) and some aspects that were totally ridiculous (to name just two, no way could someone that fat stand in a bathtub to shower; the daughter was a bully, and was not made into a good person by a four day relationship with dad).

Earlier this week I got a survey from hospice. It wasn't about their services during the end of my father's life, but about the communication I've received since then. Apparently, after 13 months, they are "done." It is 14 months today since my father died. I struggle although I do what I have to do everyday. I filled out the survey and mailed it. I did not give them a very positive rating. Everyone raves about hospice, so maybe my expectations were too high, but I was underwhelmed, and told them it was not worth the 6 or 8K Medicare pays for the service. The letters they sent just upset me. They were generic. "Random loved one" language was offensive. There should have been electronic methods for communication, especially for the survey. Even the survey was folded in a screwed up way that would not fit in the return envelope. The volunteer who opens my response will probably cry.

 Granted, it's vulgar and ill-advised (it got her fired), but every day there is a new story that makes it more and more apt. Any time I feel blue about issues related to my job, I comfort myself by saying, "at least I'm not in Florida."

Later: Bingo. On occasion, I feel embarrassed to be associated with the place. Well, at least I'm not in Florida.

 I intended to post yesterday and note two things, but this is a busy week and time evaporated. First, yesterday was the fifth anniversary of Uncle Bud's death. How can that be? Next, it was the 21st anniversary of the founding of Gully Brook Press.

Last night I had another dream with my father in it. He was driving. My mother was in the passenger's seat. I was in the back seat. He was talking and looked to be about 80-85. At first we were driving on a road that traveled through a corn field, and then we were on 28A in West Shokan. We were late for dinner, and my father was quite annoyed by this. He narrowly avoided a head on collision, which did not disturb him at all, but really upset my mother. I was going through a roll of money, pulling out bills to make the ticket price ($15 each).

 This chills me to my bones.

I had a series of dreams last night. The first included my father. It was more about other things (specifically a song, "Stuck in the Middle" by Stealers Wheel), but it featured a large group (a dozen or more) sitting around a table having a big dinner, and my father was one of them. It may have been a restaurant, and there were other family members there as well as people I can't identify. I also can't specifically identify any other family although "the feeling" was that they were present. If it wasn't for satellite radio and a Facebook meme, I would not know who sang that song.

Last night, I again dreamed of my father. I has been three months since the last one. It was a good dream and I was happy to see him. I knew he was dead, and was amazed and so pleased he was there. He was standing, talking on the phone (to a business, perhaps a telemarketer). He was wearing a dark red long sleeved shirt, and looked as he did about 15 years ago. He has been gone 13 months now, and I miss him so much.

In the paper yesterday there was an article about one of the anchors on the local news we often watch. It was a sketchy article, said she was "on leave" and "needed a break." Very odd, I cannot envision the station permitting such a thing. I am not linking or naming her because she's a real person and I don't wish to be specifically unkind, but I really hope she does not come back. The news is so much more pleasant to watch without her. She has a snarky, nasty edge that upsets me.

So after four years of drama, I was officially promoted to Lecturer II. Drama because it took years to get going, partially but not entirely due to the pandemic, and a year and a half to assemble the dossier and move through the various levels of voting, approvals and signatures. Today at the faculty meeting, it was stated that I am part of the initial batch (I thought I was part of the third or fourth) and my dossier and the department's process is setting the bar for the future. Assuming that's true (?), it is quite flattering.

Several nights ago, I had a dream with my grandmother in it. It was just an image of her, very clear, but she didn't speak. It was not like the dream I had in 1993 after she died. Although I think of her often (almost daily), I have rarely dreamed about her since that vivid visit nearly 30 years ago. It was good to see her.

On January 30 a high school friend died. She lived in Texas, and we were connected on Facebook for 10 years or so. She was a real friend in high school, not one of the popular, affluent, snobby clique members (many of whom are also now Facebook friends). She was tall, skinny and kind of awkward in high school, and from a huge family who seem to have health challenges, in that her parents died long ago and some of her siblings have already died. Anyway, she was always nice and funny. RIP Kris.