Dreaming New York

In my dreams there are several houses I may visit.* The one I visited this morning is on the banks of the Niagara River, a palatial home with park-like grounds. It has three floors, the third mostly unfinished. It is the house where my Grandfather Peck lived "with his second wife."

I arrived at this house with my sister, by a circuitous route that included a visit to some sort of medical professional (for her) and included a side-excursion to a basement room where the staff was doing some sort of installation which Cheryle insisted on helping with. Contrarily, as dreams can be, I was the nay-sayer, the cautioner, telling her of dire results if she was less than perfect, or even mildly unlucky. As in real life (sigh), she ignored me and did as she would.

The final test of the installation was conducted: a clever device that sped along on magnetic rails, ultimately crashing through to the restaurant next door, where it destroyed 20 tables' worth of china and crystal - and brought us into my grandfather's house.

We dined in the dining room (on left-over pork chops my husband actually did cook last night) and then went outside to sit on what must have been a boat launch into the Niagara River. Our heels were scraping on crusted ice, but the night was warmish (back in reality, the temperature was climbing toward the 80s). Suddenly waves washed over us, and we were drenched.

Back in the dining room, we were wrapped in blankets and clucked over. Two of the diners came toward us: Sr. Mary Sicilia, dead for years, and The Rev. Alice Scannell, still alive, if not kicking, as far as I know. They were very concerned about our getting wet; we were nonchalant. It was a lovely surprise, and we chatted, and I woke up.

For the record:

1. My grandfather never lived (as far as I know) in upstate New York. 
2. My mother, however, is buried in Brewster, NY, on the grounds of the Community of the Holy Spirit, to which The Rev Alice and Sr. Mary Sicilia also belong. Am I being haunted? 
3. While other diners were nonplussed by our bringing our own food (those chops were delicious!), the staff were okay with it, since we were at home. Sort of.
4. No, I didn't wet the bed, but the water was warm.
5. I really wish my readers could see this house. You approach through a rather nice suburb, when you are suddenly in a park, with a variety of deciduous trees, carefully spaced and impeccably groomed and cared for. There are few flowers, until you reach a turn in the path; then the park gives way to flowering shrubs - azaleas, jasmine, roses, and many more - each in its own vast bed, surrounded by graveled paths and lush lawns. Then the house: a brilliant marble facade, with sturdy pillars holding up the main floor. First is the garage/basement entrance, a cavernous space of shadows and cool concrete. Circling past it, you come to the grand staircase and the main entrance. Turning, you realize the house is built on a bluff, and below you is spread the village, the shops, and the shining river. Inside is even better.

*None of them, alas, are Manderley: https://strandmag.com/the-magazine/articles/daphne-du-mauriers-rebecca/