I had a quick glimpse of Grandma Joan in a dream this morning.
I’m quite a lucid dreamer, so I realized pretty quickly what was up, and as a result she wasn’t around long. My dead tend to do that in dreams; they bugger off once the jig is up.
What was super-cool is that the dream itself was a seventies Cold War sort of thing, something straight out of John Le Carre, and so she was lurking in a photography shop, in a trenchcoat, with unfortunate early Eighties hair, and her vanishing had this quality of ‘spy going about her business’ than not.
And then it was off to the Kremlin, where a guy named Molinov was hatching a scheme, and then quickly to the hotel where Kelly and I were staying, for their continental breakfast. (It was shortly before six, so I was dreaming of breakfast. But spy breakfast! Because that young Continental Breakfast woman from the hotel was definitely trying to charm her way into our room.
And then, um, redcoats were marching on the lawn of the hotel. Because every dream needs a historical anachronism.
It’s possible the sight of Grandma was triggered by my learning on Facebook of Andrew Brechin’s suden death. I used to play Champions with Breklor; I’ve been racking my brains to figure out just when we met, but it was a damn long time ago and I can’t believe he’s suddenly gone. I do remember the last time I saw him: it was at the Storm Crow Tavern (of course!) at a book launch, and we caught up and talked about his son.
In much happier news, it’s my legalversary!!! Kelly and I have been married for almost 25 years, but today is the tenth anniversary of our having gone legal, thanks to the Supreme Court and the hard work of marriage equality activists across the country.