Dreaming about my dad and my daughter

It’s now 13 years since my dad died.

About five months ago, I dreamed that my father had ordered a bunch of nondescript raw materials in long, brown cardboard boxes. He was convinced that would resell them and make himself rich.

At some point, he decided that we (he, my daughter, and I) had to drive into Canada. Continue reading “Dreaming about my dad and my daughter”