I've struggled for a long time about the content of my blog. I didn't know how personal I wanted to get in this forum. All day, however, I've been thinking about posting about a dream I had last night. I thought about how the blogs that I love the best give a glimpse to the blogger's personality. Let's face it, that is the reason we tune in day after day - because we feel like we grow to know someone. It's intriguing to think that we're being included in someone's life.

My dreams have always been odd. Surreal at best. Nothing normal ever happens and I normally wake with a feeling of "What the @&$*#??" This morning was no different, but I turned over and buried my face in my pillow and cried. I cried a few brief, sleepy tears.

I dreamed of my grandfather for the first time since he passed away seven years ago. My grandparents were the most amazing people. Their story is one that I've thought of immortalizing often in the written word, or film. I won't recount,now, the endearing story of how they met in a work camp in Germany following WW2. I won't tell you the tender recount of how my grandmother looked at my grandfather for the first time, over a line of laundry whipping in the wind, and thought, "I will marry that man." I will tell you, however, about my dream.

In my dream, my grandfather was alive and the two of them were living in New York and they vistited me in the store where I worked. But it wasn't the store. It was my dream-eye version - off kilter and surreal as most of my dreams. He was old and shuffling, how he might move now, if he were still alive, not the hearty, vital man I remember.

In my dream, my grandfather, who had at best, a basic command of the English language, was looking over new software with which to do his taxes. He had a cell phone.

And he said something to me that was so poignant, so loving, that at upon waking, I turned my head into my pillow and cried a few brief tears, but now cannot remember. It was something vaguely regarding my relationship with my boyfriend of almost eight years. It was loving and insightful and wise in only the way a grandfather could be and it made me miss him so much.

Maybe I'm being overly sentinmental, but I feel like he was speaking to me. He never visited me before. Never once in seven years. Maybe I'm just feeling something because my 29th birthday is looming around the corner and the image of my grandfather was just a vehicle of my subconscious. A method for my inner most thoughts to come to the surface in the form of something trusted and venerable.

And maybe it was just a dream.