Dreams of frustration

[fbhjr]

I’m writing them in reverse order. Dream 2 was last night, dream 1 the night before.

Second dream:
My wife and I were somewhere rural I didn’t recognize. Lots of big fields, cows and such, few buildings.
We came to a building that said it was an ice cream parlor.
My wife asked me to get her a specific kind of chocolate ice cream cone as she had heard this place was very good.

I went in and it look like an old general store with a counter in the back. There were at least half a dozen teenage kids wearing what looked like uniforms for the shop. Some were sitting on the counter, some on the window edge, some behind the counter.

I went up to the “order here” sign on the counter and waited.
The folks in the store uniform continued to talk about their friends, weekend plans, etc.
I looked specifically at the ones behind the counter, but they just kept talking to themselves.

After a while, a man came out of the backroom with the look of a manager to him.
“Sorry you had to wait, sir,” he said. “What can I get you?”
I told him of my wife’s request and he nodded and got a cone and put some chocolate ice cream in it and handed it to me.
“Thank you,” I said. “Now, for the second cone…”
But, he had walked off.
“Excuse me, but there was a second thing I wanted to order,” I said as he headed into the back room again.
He did not return.

I walked over to the end of the counter with the cash register, but was still being ignored by the folks in store uniform.
I decided just to leave the money for the one cone on the counter and leave.
I couldn’t take out my wallet and hold the cone, so I put it down on an ice cream dish on the counter and pulled out my cash.
As I started to pull out some money, one of the folks working there took the cone and bit off a lot of the ice cream.
“Hey! That’s for my wife, not you!” I shouted.
The person put it down, but another one picked it up and took a big bite as well.
“This place sucks!” I shouted. “I’m not paying for that and am going to give a really bad review on line when I get home.”

The manger came back out.
“You can’t talk to people like that in my store!” he yelled at me.
“These kids ate my wife’s ice cream!”
“I don’t care!”
I called them all very rude names.
Dream ends.

Dream one:
My wife and I were traveling somewhere and is out habit, we went into the local museum of the town where we stopped.
Much like the museum we went to in Saint Augustine, this seemed less to be a museum with a theme and more just a collection of things that were donated on display.
http://www.fbhjr.livejournal.com/515875.html or http://fbhjr.dreamwidth.org/515070.html

As we went through it, more and more of it looked familiar to me.
“This is all stuff my dad had,” I said to my wife. “What are the odds that someone else had the same things?”
I went up to the front desk and asked and they proudly told me that this was the collection of Frank Hunt. They didn’t realize I was his son with the same name.

I went into the wings that were dedicated to his family, and found a lot of my old stuff there.

I got really mad about it and opened one of the cases and began taking things out. It was my old school report cards, letters I had received or written as a kid. I began building a pile of them.

The museum staff came running up to stop me.
“This is my stuff!” I said. “I never said you could have it!”
“It was donated to the museum,” one of them said.
“Donated? I doubt that. How much did you give my mother for this?”
“Let him keep it,” the senior museum person said. “This whole room we got for $50, he can take what he can carry from it.”
Dream ends

I think this one with the museum to my dad was triggered when I posted those photos of his burial back in 2000.
When he died some of the electrical components he had spent decades collecting were put together in a small museum. I never saw it, and the place that had them closed.
But, for at least a short time there was a small museum to my dad’s collection

Back in the spring of 2013 my mother told me she was going to get rid of the old tool shed where she had been keeping all the things from my childhood. If I wanted any of them, I should come and get them before she got rid of them.

Not trusting my mother in any way, I went to google and looked at their images of my mother’s yard. The tool shed was already gone.
Based on their feature looking at past photos, it had been gone for at least two years when she wrote that letter.
The letter had been written two days after I gave her sister an iPad as a present…

There were things in that shed I had wanted.
I had been debating if it was worth facing her on her home ground to try and get them.
The fact it was a trap and they weren’t there was a disappointment, but not too much of a surprise.
What I regret most from that was it had a copy of the memoirs my father was writing and I was transcribing to computer. I thought I lost all of it, but later it turned out he had sent some to his sister and I was able to recover some.
But, only the ones I had already transcribed. The rest were lost.

So, clearly, part of me still has feelings about that 8 years later. And, maybe hope that more of it will turn up some day.
Even if in a very strange way…