buenas noches…

Had an odd dream this morning.  We, family (even those who have passed) and friends, were out at a late dinner.  They place was like the Melting Pot just not as fancy.  Also there was a cabaret show there after dinner.

Many of our friends were there, in and out, no one really had a major roll in this dream except for a cousin of mine and an fried that I worked with at AOL.  Everyone is enjoying their fondue. People are coming in at all times and joining tables,talking, laughing.  I’m finished eating and head over to the show with my cousin and friend.  There are no seats, just an open floor and the small stage.  The song is a pirate song. I did watch Muppet Treasure Island so I’m sure that’s how that fits in. The song finishes and I turn around and the place is nearly empty.

The three of us head outside.  Getting through the door was tricky as it was like a half revolving door.  Odd. The parking lot is empty.  Our rides had left us.  My friend then tells me we have to go down the street to the gas station as the restaurant charges some crazy “sitting” fee.  We venture on.

At the gas station, I’m trying to dial my parents house but don’t know the phone number.  Meanwhile, we are having to get off the sidewalk so bicycles can get by and then some girl keeps touching my phone to throw off the touch screen.  My friend informs me that there is another place down the street that has benches we can sit on.

We arrive and sure enough there is a bench with a cover, like a bus stop but it’s along the parking lot side not the street and there is also this little shack type building with another bench.  I enter the shack, sit down and start to dial what I think is my parents number 321-1725 (This really was my phone number about 20 years ago) and someone picks up and is speaking Spanish.  WTF?  I hang up. Dial again and hear a man, who I think is my dad,  faintly saying  something and mentioning “escuela”.  “Escuela”, I say. “It’s not a school night and why are you speaking in Spanish?”  “Because I’m Mexican”, the voice says. “So this isn’t the Clemens residence?”, I ask. “No.”, he says.  “Buenas noches”, I say and quickly hang up.

Why was that man answering my parents phone number?  I decided to call 411 for the number.  I tell the operator that I need the number for LeRoy Clemens and spell out the last name for her.  She says she has it.  The recording comes on for the number, I hear it and wake up.

Have an unsettled feeling.  Was good to see my parents though, even if was just in my dream.  They frequent them a lot.


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