Dreamed of Papa last night. I had invited a friend over to play spades and when I answered the door, Papa was there. He said he could not eat anything when I offered him something to eat or drink. Then I was in a school-style cafeteria, in a cold sweat of panic looking for him. I could not find him anywhere. There was mockery from people eating their lunches whose faces were blurred like smudges of paint; I explained I had lost my grandfather. No concept of time in your dreams. Maybe 10 minutes later or a matter of seconds, I found him. He was sitting in the dark chestnut voltaire. We were at the house on 111 Lake Forest Trail and I could hear those wooden beads clinking on the harpischord hanging on the back of the door. I intra-closed my eyes and shut inside my sleeping eyes my seeing eyes saw amber and fern-green light prisms refracting on the windowsill above the sink. I remember feeling like I could walk up the stairs and retrieve the striped linen sack that held the blueprints for building cedar castles on Oriental rugs.