To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Having my Covid first vaccination , I noticed a sore shoulder; expected and similar to the annual flu shot.  But, I also noticed a feeling of fatigue; Being tired.  So at 5:30, I turned in.  The usual senior restroom visits punctuated my sleep until 12:02am .  ( I remember looking at the bathroom clock) In a drowsy completion of my business, I went back to bed and fell back asleep very quickly.  And this is where my story starts.

I was in a car with office associates giving me a offered lift to the train station,  but got diverted in conversation, and went about two miles out of the way, whereupon driver Tommy let me out to walk back, while they continued home.  It was country highway and on one side there were large modern homes, but on this other side it was long stretch of abandoned old homesteads all about a century old.  Already late, and in no hurry, I took interest in these venerable old estates , wondering what life in them had be like.  I walked up a particularly appealing one and found a basement built-out old door open.  I stepped inside.

It was all old timbers and hewn joists. and smelled in mustiness of neglect and aged wood, but it was mostly clean , except for dust.  Most of the rooms were bare excepting small bits of left behind bits and pieces. Nothing of interest.  “One more door and I leave,” I said, entering a corner room .

This room was all shelves , with paper folders sandwiched together on them like in the old days; doctor’s patient files.  I took one down and it was bills, statements , and letters filed from some long ago industrial firm.  Many had cursory, almost calligraphic, writings,  so I knew them to be very old.  Many were deteriorating and dog eared.  I saw dates back to the 1800's.

No interest here, so I delved into another shelf in a different stack. Wow, I was astounded .  Opening a folder I found sheets of paper.  Deteriorating, wrinkled; torn and dog-eared  All with watercolor depictions, along with hand written poetry on the pages; stunning, delicate paintings with delightful, inspiring words.  I was smitten.  I leafed through many and then into a similar neighboring file, I found many were inscribed with the name Robert Casey.  The man had such talent.  Further browsing found dates.  Mostly 1905 and years around that one.  I spent what had to be a long, long time leafing through regaled at these priceless treasures.

They had better to deserve by being in the public domain.  To have others enjoy them.  Guilty only for a scant moment, I took one stuffed folder and made my exit.

I woke up.  It was 3:30 in the morning, an unheard of length of time for me to slumber through.  The dream endured in my memory, although I have no recollection of anyone named Robert Casey,, a similar road and old houses, or ever seeing a folder of poems and watercolors.  This had to have been constructed from a shuffling of mind in the subconscious.  I took time to make brief notes of my journey , writing them down on an envelope, knowing if I did not right then and there, by morning it would all have flown away. 

So was this a result of some Covid vaccination affect?  A random confluence of some forgotten memories?  I do not know , nor do I have reason to delve further.  The trip was so real and so wonderful, and this writing will serve as my memory jog of the vast strangeness of the human mind, and of our extant creative ability.  Yes, it was all in color.  And , geez, the beauty of those watercolors.... 

-Jerry Wendt 2021

The scribbled jot down