The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of

My dreams are often a nocturnal re-synthesis of things I heard or events of my day, put into the magical dream maker, and sometimes recalled in the morning.

Yesterday I had a pleasant FaceBook colloquy with Gilda, a friend from growing up on LI. She lives still on LI, and was defending her home turf against those who take shots at living in NY. I supported her -- telling her that in my humble opinion, NYC was the greatest city in the world, and I loved to visit often. I guess that set things in motion.

So I dreamed I was in NYC with D2, and I took her to the street on LI where I grew up. This really happened, several years ago, and indeed we were greeted by the lady who bought the house from my parents in 1979. But my dream went hyper-real -- the house was now inhabited by new people, who had turned it into a wondrous mansion. They invited us in.

D2 was rolling her eyes, as she often does when she's sucked into an "OK Boomer" moment of nostalgia, but we went inside. The new people were also Italian American, like the last owners, but were billionaire hedge fund types -- they had build an acquarium that looked like the one they have at the Frost Museum Downtown -- a true recreation of an ecosystem.

A party was going on, with all types of delicacies being served, and lots of exquisite LI accents were heard. D2 used to be amazed that my friends and I actually spoke that way.

We finally begged off -- and as we were being led outside, there was a room with a hospital bed -- the matriarch of the family was in it -- dying of some rare form of spinal cancer. Her local doctors were afraid to operate.

I told the family about a neurosurgeon in Miami -- a new friend of my Rabbi Yossi -- who is far more aggressive than many of his colleagues. Maybe he was worth a visit? The family was very appreciative, and they took down his name and hospital.

And that was it. D2 and I drove the rental car away from this surreal version of my childhood home.

Wifey was awake -- trying to go back to grab a few more hours of sleep before heading to D1 and Joey's place for her new full time job -- helping out with our new grandson.

Yesterday she and D1 walked the few blocks to Biscayne Bay, and sent a lovely photo of the baby in his stroller waterside -- D1 was introducing him to my parents -- his great grandparents, and their spirits, which are in the ocean. It was very moving.

Wifey remarked how lucky I was to have the childhood I did -- same house from age one through high school graduation, loving parents, wonderful friends.

And she's right, and I have always felt very fortunate -- but -- there were traumas, of course. I was very close to a brother in law who essentially died from my life -- after my sister divorced him. My mother nearly died from a perforated ulcer when I was in junior high school.  Math.

Still, it was a wonderful childhood, and it warms me to see my grandson surrounded by love, as well -- with grandparents who are part of his daily life, as well as three uncles and 2 aunts who will always be there for him -- all in the same area code.

I enjoyed my little dream trip last night, and it made me wonder -- who DID buy our family's house? I'm FaceBook friends with the man, Mark, who moved there in '79 when he was a baby -- and his family owned the place until '19 -- four decades. I plan to ask him about the new folks.

In the unlikely event they're billionaire hedge fund bankers -- I'll have to visit a psychic.