Springtime

I dreamed that I was at my grandparents' house, as I have before. It strongly resembles the original structure next to the Masonic Lodge in Broad Ripple where my father grew up, but in dreams, it expands, and has secret stairways leading to many rooms, and a favourite secret spiral staircase to a lovely turret. There was some sort of banquet going on, with many guests roaming about the decidedly late-victorian settings. The furnishings were made of marble and carved wood in deep cherry hues, with lovely textiles of tapestry and heavy draperies, intricate wallpapers, leafy vine patterns woven into wool carpeting, all much like the actual characteristics of my grandparents' home.

There was much bustling, and I was to perform at seven o'clock with John Mellencamp and his band, outside in a bandshell on the premises. For some reason, I had to wait for Rob, who showed up late, and apologized for making me lose my job. It was ten after seven and I had been informed that my presence was no longer desired. I was unperturbed, however, and put a pair of John's gloves and a scarf into a ziplock bag, attaching it to the back bumper of a large flatbed truck with chairs on it that was to be part of a parade for his fans. Apparently, they were to be allowed to reach out and touch the ziplock which contained the gloves that once contained his hands. I remember that this niether impressed me nor bothered me. It was more like the way one feels when cutting the grass. It was just something that was to be done.

Then I went inside and up a hidden staircase to a room in which my father was lying in a bed, propped up on pillows, with the windows open and a fine breeze blowing through. My mother was there at the foot of the bed on a divan, relaxing with something, sewing? a book? A few others were there, but I only had eyes for my dad, so I could only see them peripherally. We were just hanging out, my dad and I, and talking. He was content, casually supping on a shallow dish of ruby red pomegranate seeds in a sweet jewel red sauce over a dark bread-like cake. He handed the dish to me, did I want a taste?- and I noticed the dish was piece from the English Porcelain given to Rob and I for our wedding. The bedcover was also red, a dusky rose red silk, and the walls were papered in a similar pinkish red brocade.
I thought of myself thinking of Persephone, and awoke.