Tonight is Arlo’s last night in Pittsboro. He’s off to Canada. Then parts unknown. We are staring down “empty nest” in earnest.
To celebrate the occasion we whisked him off to Oakleaf for a farewell dinner. That’s our town’s fancy farm to fork restaurant. Arlo is the foodie in the family. When our dinner together ended, Tami and I randomly decided to “pop in” on Mark and Carol at the Hewitt Pottery. We are not sure “pop ins” are allowed, but what with us being in an “other worldly” space and all, we figured we would take our chances.
Carol was doing the dishes when we arrived. She received us graciously. After we settled in around her kitchen table, with Mark, she told us this story:
“I’m not surprised to see you,” she said. “Today Jeff from the orchid farm came by for a surprise visit. He said that he had a vivid dream last night that shook him up, and he came here to tell me about it.”
I don’t really know Jeff at the orchid farm. I know his Mom, Rita. Kind of. Not really. They have a massive orchid business right around the corner from us. A lot of it involves “babysitting” orchids. I love orchids. We have a “Florida room,” so I normally babysit my orchids myself. We are not really a customer of theirs.
A long time ago I visited Jeff and discussed a wood fired boiler as a heat source for his operation. At the time I was on the edge of biomass based heating. He was just picking my brain. He may not even remember that. We barely know one another.
When Zafer died we vanished into a five day rager. Carol apparently stopped by, and rescued one of our orchids from the window sill and took it to Jeff for care. She explained the situation to him. Someday I suppose we will get a call to pick up a beautiful blooming orchid that we have forgotten about.
As Carol told us the story tonight she said, “Jeff said his dream rattled him. He had goose bumps telling me about it. Zafer came to him, and told him to take his boys and to go visit his Dad to tell him that everything was all right. In his dream, Jeff said he found me covered in tears and snot.”
Funny that he should say that. The last two times I have been to yoga I have cried during Shavasana. When I do that two things happen. Tears run into my ears to impair my already bad hearing. And I get so filled with snot that I cannot do the nostril breathing exercises at the end of class.
Jeff has a six-year-old son. And a four-year-old son. I’ve never been to their house, but apparently it is chaotic. He wanted to come to me to deliver the message of the dream, but he does not know where I live, so he went to Carol and Mark’s place instead. Carol agreed to pass the story along.
Good thing we randomly stopped by the Hewitt Pottery tonight.
Mark’s assessment was that Z was headed our way and simply missed on the co-ordinates. He landed around the corner and found a distant neighbor with two boys to deliver his message. Maybe the dead lack GPS.
It’s a strange story. But I’ll take it. I’ll take anything I can get these days. Normally our family budget does not allocate money toward paying for “Psychic Hotline,” but these days I let it slide. We all grasp at straws. We cling to dreams, and bird signs, and anything we can get—even if they are entirely fictional.
Thank you Jeff. Looking forward to meeting your boys someday. Thank you Carol. Thank you Z for telling us everything is all right….