Remember the children of the Tenth Department...

Last night, I dreamt that I was in the Haitian governmental palace, or rather what my mind imagines it to be like, walking down a long and narrow marble & exposed brick corridor. A plaque (in English, I guess) to the left of the large imposing door at the end of the corridor reminded legislators to remember to think about the children of the Tenth Department. The Tenth Department, from what I understand, is a designation/sector created by the Haitian government signifying the Haitian nationals residing abroad in NYC, Miami, and elsewhere. When I pulled the large door open, the room, which up to then was lit with dreary, depressing rectangular florescent lights, was overwhelmed with sunlight, green slopes and valleys and little kids jumping rope, playing hopscotch and jacks.

J., an ex, was also in my dream. We had a baby together and he was really good with it. At first the baby was a loaner (we were babysitters) but by the end of the dream he was ours. He was a white baby, one of those fat, blonde, blue-eyed ones from commercials. He also kinda looked like the Gerber baby and Sweet Pea from the Popeye movie. Sweet Pea. That kid must be my age. But in the dream, the boy--who never had a name the whole time--, J., and I were being schlepped around through the Catskill Mountains, Niagara Falls and a wooden arcade, which must've been on the Canadian side of the Falls because once I saw a PBS special (or was it the History Channel?) that said that their's was much more welcoming to visitors and tourists than our side (surprise, surprise), which was more business and industry-oriented, on a madcap adventure by an upstate Native American lesbian couple. But anyway, the boy was always smiling and giggling; he was a pretty good kid.