Sleep Dream. I am in Colorado Springs, at the Carter gas station that was located less than half a block away from the Union Blvd. house. I am my current age. It is daytime, pleasant weather. As I walk into the station, I think how odd that I don’t know if I ever went into the station while I was growing up. The dream station sells a lot of stuff, like gas station stores do these days. I walk to the back corner and am very surprised to see that there are Latvian items on a table. I am particularly amazed to see a half dozen or so books from Soviet Latvia, the small size that Soviet poetry was formatted in. I notice that one of the tomes is Vizma Belševica’s Gadu gredzeni (Tree Rings / the Rings of Years) the impassioned and beautifully-crafted verses the publication of which led to severe repercussions for her under the Communists. I wonder who could have put these Latvian items here, and when. It is quality stuff, I note, not junk.
Alma’s father, Mr. G., approaches me. (He has been dead for years in waking life.) He and I had a most antagonistic relationship. He was violently opposed to my dating his daughter, plus he and Zaiga were like hissing cats around each other in the Latvian community. I am curious to see what he wants. Particularly interesting is that this meeting is happening in sight of my childhood home.
He is in a dark suit. His eyes are a clear, icy blue. He walks to within a few feet of me and stops. There is no hostility whatsoever in his demeanor. He looks into my eyes, as if trying to really see who I am. I sense that he feels a great deal of respect for me. He talks and I am reminded of the odd waking reality that for a good-sized male and a bully, he had the oddest whingy, whiny voice, that always sounded as if he were about to burst into tears. We exchange pleasantries. I am curious that he now has a respectful stance toward me.