My World of Parkinsonian Delights

Dreaming of the Old Homestead

Last night I dreamed my dead twin brother and I were looking for the old homestead in Iowa.  I think my sister Becki was with us, too.  My dead father had loaned us his brand new, cherry red Dodge Charger to use for the trip and promised to murder us all if we put any dings in it.

On our first pass through the old neighborhood, we noticed some real changes.  The house we grew up in wasn’t even there.  The neighborhood didn’t look the same.  And the old alley that used to start on 26th Avenue North and then turn west to 3rd Street now went straight through to Cleveland Street across the creek.  So, we went downtown to look around.

They had a brand new overpass by the south bridge across the Mississippi.  A lot of improvements, which we thought were pretty cool.  So we went back north to the old neighborhood, and this time we found our old house tucked behind some other houses.

There were folks in the yard telling us that they were expecting us, so we went in to have a look around.  The layout was close to what I remember, except they had really flowery wallpaper all over everything and the steps to the second floor weren’t where they used to be.

Then old friends from grade school and their parents started dropping by.  Bob was really drinking heavily, and when we finally left, we had to stop the car several times so he could hurl.

It was getting late, so I had to find a room for the night.  Becki, by this point, was no longer in the dream.  I stopped at this place downtown and asked if they had a room for my brother and me.  For $60, we could have a little storage space that looked like a narrow but deep locker.  The lady opened the door and slid in two narrow foam mattresses.  I didn’t have the $60, only $56, and she said that was fine.  I got Bob out of the car, we crawled into the locker and went to sleep.

Then, I woke up and still had this damned cold.

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