So, I am sitting on a steno’s chair, in some kind of an office setting, looks sort of like the office scene on a cop show. This attractive, plumpish woman comes and plops right down on my knees; kind of heavy, but nice and soft, not an unpleasant experience. Chair morphs into a couch, and woman swivels a bit so we are side by side on the couch, can make eye contact, she keeps shapeshifting between several plumpish attractive women I know, not sure who she is exactly.
She says “so, how do your roots fit into the Canadian Mosaic?”
So I told her how my main root is Germanic, from Bohemia in eastern Europe; we have long bony faces and long noses, high cheekbones, with bright blue eyes set in slightly droopy lids so our eyes have the shape of a comma laid on its side, hollow side down; very fair skin, brown or blonde with lots of redheads. Told her we were scattered in small enclaves all across eastern Europe, going back at least a thousand years to the time good king Wenceslas brought Christianity to Bohemia, Wenceslas is an English corruption, actually his name was Vaclav in Czech and Wenzl in German, translates to Lawrence in English (don’t know if that’s all true, but that’s the narrative of the dream)
Then I go on about how these eastern Germans missed the Reformation, and were generally Catholic, and being a minority saw a steady emigration once America began to fill up in the 19th century, with some enclaves in the Canadian colonies, one being around Carlsruhe, Ontario. Many moved into western Canada in the great land rush around the opening of the 20th century, including my ancestors who went to St Peters Colony in Saskatchewan, a development especially for German-speaking Catholics. After World War 2, the Communists kicked out all the German-speaking people in Eastern Europe, made all 14 million of them walk to West Germany, 2 million perished along the way. From there they were scattered around the world as ‘displaced persons’, many ending up scattered across Canada. So my Germanic root is well-integrated into the Canadian mosaic, to use her words.
I am about to launch into my French-Canadian connection, roots going back in Quebec all the way to colonial days, but she interrupts. She makes a remark about the plumpish attractive lady I had been chatting with the day before. Aha, she is not really interested in me or my roots at all; she is just testing to see if she can attract me away from the other lady.
I wake up at this point. Very interesting; I do not think of myself as a prize, a Mr. Studley, I see myself as a reject, the dweeby nerd of any group. So I am feeling pretty good until it sinks in that this is only a dream. Lying awake, I wondered, where does my hairy body come from? The Germans and Norman French are pretty hairless, and so is any aboriginal in that French Connection, but I look like a bear with my shirt off. Maybe an Italian hid in a woodpile somewhere along the way?
Silly dream, wonder why I remember it.