Toward morning I had a vivid dream about my father. I would classify this one as an actual after death communication. I was sitting in a large bathroom. That's funny, because lamenting about going to the bathroom (the "Giuliano curse"), and bathroom humor were 100% my father. The room appeared to be in an unfinished log house. He was standing behind or in a cabinet. He was only visible from the waist up. I didn't recognize him at first. I thought, what is that man doing in here? Then it dawned on me that it was him and I started urgently repeating, while reaching my arms towards him, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" He was wearing the tee-shirt he has on in the photo below, although in the ADC he was younger; his hair was a little salt & pepper but mostly black, and he looked about 60 (in this photo he was in his early 70s). He was not wearing glasses. He looked right at me and spoke directly, saying "I have things to do." My father was often hilarious, but he could be deeply serious as well. It felt real, like I was not sleeping, and when I woke up, I had tears in my eyes. I wished the experience had not ended and that we could talk more. I wondered, am I keeping him from what he needs to do? Is our family's profound grief doing that? If so, I'm sorry. I can't help it. I miss him so.

 An earthquake, an aftershock today (I only felt the aftershock) and an eclipse on Monday! 

Mimmie died 31 years ago today. 😔

Easter was nice. My brother hosted a brunch. It was my first large (32), mostly indoor gathering since 2019 (or very early 2020). So much has happened since then. It's a good thing we live mostly not knowing what is coming.

 Three years ago today, the best dog I've ever had died. I've had many great dogs; the current three are awesome too and I love (and miss) them all, but Rosie was perfect in every way. RIP little tiny circus dog.

Bob and I have been watching all the Academy Award nominated movies - a bigger task now that they have increased Best Picture to ten. We have two left in that category. On Saturday during the snowstorm, we watched Poor Things. Neither of us was very impressed by it. I'll say that about the first 3/4 held my attention (then it seemed too long to me; Bob felt it "jumped the shard" when she went from naive to calculating). What irritated me was that it felt like an effort to normalize abuse. Abuse is not funny or cute. Hollywood usually is a proponent of cancel culture. The acting was fine, but about Bext Actress, ten minutes into the movie, all I could think of was this non-PC but apt scene.

 I guess because of my prior post, last night I had a dream with my father in it. He was talking fluently, and I was thrilled. He was eating ice cream. My mother was briefly in the dream too.

Today is March 13. In one month, it will be April 13, my father's birthday. He would be 97 this year. I miss him enormously every day, but his birthday and the approach of spring are incredibly hard. He loved the number 13 and his birthday.😭