Sweet Dreams

B"H,

Don't Let The Bed Bugs Bite!



No one in my family ever sleeps at night.  They go on fantastic adventures.  They return to schools of unknown sorts.  They travel to other continents and even to other worlds.  They visit hell.  They talk to the dead and to the living.  They make so much noise at night in their dream world waves that I cannot sleep.  And so, I listen to their nocturnal scripts again and again and again. 

My son squeals with delight, "wheeeeee, whoooo-haaaah, wow!"

He laughs and giggles while he calls out for more space ships, again and again.  My daughter sings and dances with butterflies and fairies and a pig named Mercy.  My poor husband, sleep deprived for decades, barely chokes out the words, "help me!"  It is so desperate in tone and inflection I want to cry but I don't.  I tell myself it is only a dream. 

In the morning my son tells me of space travels through time and other worlds.  My daughter is looking for her dance partners in the garden because that is where they held the party last night.  She forgot the song that she loved so much and wanted to hear it again.  My husband denies any dream-world or nightmare... at least for now.  There will be times in the days to come when he admits to a dream in an exam hall.  Who knows the subject?  Who knows the institution? Who knows anything?  All he can remember is that he has flunked this test for years.  The morning he passed and moved on to the second level of whatever it was, he actually smiled before his morning shower. 

This all brings me back to my childhood when Bubbe Pheema would stay with us for Shabbos.   She, too, spoke in the night but I do not know if it came from her dream-world or if she were trying to right the wrongs of her past.  Two shot glasses filled with peach brandy stood on her night table.   "Nimm a bissel" she said as she held up the second glass.  But she was not offering it to me.   She held it out to some phantom I could not see.  "Oh, I see you are too good to drink with me.  A shame.  There was a time when you honored me and my family.  You say, oh my, when did I start drinking like a man?  You forget, you knew the girl I was.  Today I am an old, old lady, a survivor of your transgressions.  I have many sons and daughters, many grandsons and granddaughters, I even have great grandchildren.  Did you and Sara have children?  What happened to you, Kalman?  Did you know joy or sorrow?  I've worked hard and I still do.  ..."  The words continued on and on.  Then quiet.  I peeked into the guest room.  My bubbe was sitting on the side of her bed with her head tilted down and her eyes closed.  I tip-toed into the room.  Uninvited I tasted the peachy drink from the little glass.  Oy, it went up my nose like plumes of fruit.  Then I ran out of the room when Bubbe stirred.  She looked at the night table. 
"Ah, I see you have not forgotten your old friend.  Thank G-d.  We'll talk tomorrow."  With that, Bubbe Pheema put herself under the covers, spoke a quiet "Shma"  and fell asleep. 

(Picture, links, and extras to be added later.  Thank you very much for your patience.  Glancing at the other Bubbe Pheema stories will fill out the landscape a bit.  Again, thank you for your patience.)