Reading Time: 2 minutes

Walking down a dark but brightly lighted path by street lights. Wind gusts. Hair flying. Hard to walk. I take a left. Quietly. Into an apartment complex with a garden in the foyer. Now it is daytime (of course because that’s how these dreams go). It’s calm now. I go in. I don’t belong here. But I want out of the wind.

There are sets and sets of keys everywhere. All labeled to their corresponding apartments. But I turn around and I see a large frame (elaborately art framed ) of a “moving picture” – Harry Potter style – of what’s supposed to be my dad’s funeral… or the day he died. And Dad is just walking across the picture from left to right and Momo (my Grandmother) is in the center watching. Did I mention she’s dead too?

But the photo was about Dad. And I’m wondering who came upon this photo. This huge museum like photo that is mounted like a work of art of my family. Of my dad.

Of something that was mine.

I walked closer to it. Then some boys came and rolled it away.

NOW we are in a large theatre space with bleacher seating and I ask how/who came up upon this picture. “We came upon it.” Ummm. Ok. I reveal it is my family and suddenly I am ready, more formally, to tell my story. But then an audience member says something – coaching me like – “just tell the story.” And I begin. But then someone to my left – a woman – says, “don’t laugh”. And I think, well that’s going to be hard considering some of this is pretty funny and I am a pretty humorous person.

But she meant don’t make fun. Don’t mock the story. Don’t make it lighter than it really is. Give it the weight it deserves. So I began.

And then I woke up.

I won’t mock the story. I won’t make it lighter than it is. But we will laugh.

Welcome to the Hushabye Blog.

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