Here’s a dream from last night:
My wife Kate and I are at a comedy show at a small bar venue. We’re seated separately. She’s opposite the stage. I’m under a platform tech nest. I wave at her and she smiles back. I indicate that I’ve brought a French press of coffee if she’d care for some. She takes a cup and returns to her seat. I continue to watch the show, though my view is obscured by a paper set list dangling from the platform above. I’m enjoying the show and began to interact from my seat; not as a heckler, but as a spontaneous participant. I indicate to Kate that I’m going to return home to make more coffee, but I’ll return. She waves me off, laughing at the performer.
I walk through our small camp town to arrive at my back porch. Inside, I find my siblings, a swarm of teenage brothers and sisters (who are not identifiable to me, though siblings in the dream), noisily interacting, preparing food and enjoying themselves. I wave and smile on my say to the sink, where I began to wash the press and prepare more coffee. Also in the mix is Ann Carlisle and her four children, who are staying in our home. I’m keeping track of various conversations as I prepare the coffee, and keep messing up. I add sugar to the coffee grinds and realize my error, as Kate doesn’t like sugar. I dumped the grounds to begin again. I’m amused more than frustrated by my mistakes. I wait for a break in conversation to tell Ann about my mishaps, thinking she’d find it funny.
My brother Greg stands next to me to bathe a baby in the sink. The baby is oddly shaped, very extenuated with an elongated head. My brother focuses on preparing the bath and doesn’t support the baby. He seems to believe that due to its size, it’s old enough to stand. I encourage him to support the baby’s head. He grows frustrated and walks away, leaving the baby to sink. I put aside my coffee carafe and go to the baby. I begin to bathe the baby, which shrinks as I do. I whisper to the baby, “Here we go get ready!” before blowing on the baby’s face and push it fully under water. I gently repeat this process of near drowning, calling it “pressing down.” The baby is content. My mom, watching, tells me I’m “pressing down” just right.
One sibling pulls me aside to ask if we can talk later, as he thinks he may be having sex with an ex and wants to consult me on the wisdom of this. I laugh and say sure, we can meet later. A young woman joins him and introduces herself. I realize she’s my sibling’s ex. I’m surprised that he wants to ask me about the wisdom of a new sexual relationship when he’s already decided to go ahead.
Kate enters the back porch. I apologize for not returning with the coffee, but we can go back now. She smiles that there’s no need as the second host had not arrived so the second show was canceled. I tell her I know another show a friend is hosting and we can go there. I tell my brother we’ll talk later. Kate and the young woman seem cofused by the plan. I explain that in large families, siblings meet in the middle of the night for private conversations. That comes after the tumult of an evening, the playfulness of shared baths and the quiet time of listening to stories read. As I describe this, I think it would make a good setting for a British television show, about a large family with boarders who make clandestine meetings.