Two Dreams: One Beautiful, One Bothersome

Last night I had two dreams the involved Catholicism.

The Beautiful:

I was attending Mass, but towards the end I was distracted and being a Martha instead of a Mary.  I think I was shopping for something, and I remember pulling out fabric or a blanket.  Mass had ended at that point and out of the corner of my eye I saw the Father staring at me, arms crossed, foot tapping, but a playful, fatherly half-smile on his face.  I feigned like I didn't see him and busied myself with folding the material and putting it back.  At that point, I "noticed" Father and greeted him.  He smiled and invited me to sit in a pew and talk with him.  I was thrilled and I believe I told him that I had been hoping he'd invite me for a chat.  Indeed, he asked me my religious history.  I began by saying that I was born and baptized Catholic.  When I said that, an applause and cheer arose from around us.  It was other Catholics, some strangers, some people I went to school with.  Father explained how joyful they were at that news.  I said, "I'm a cradle Catholic!" but any conversation with Father was interrupted as my classmates and I started talking.  I don't recall what.

The Bothersome:

I am taken down this quiet residential city street in Amsterdam to this run down, interesting house that was for sale.  I am surprised to find out that that Dave bought it.  I am escorted in, though I never see by who, nor who drove me to the house, nor who narrates the tour.  The house smells, and is really run down, out dated, has a strange floor plan, and is giving me the creeps.  People are working on the house, cleaning it out, but I only really see Dave and my dad.  We make our way to the front of the house and I am particularly interested in the odd shuttered bay window I saw out front.  As I work the shutters, I notice they are broken.  Beyond that room is a narrow staircase up to a loft above the bay window.  It has old lumber in it, but I remark how it would make a nice play room for the kids.

Overall, I am a bit sickened by the house, but Dave eagerly sees the potential.  I pretty much want nothing to do with it until it is cleaned out and repaired, but I feel obligated to participate somehow.  I am overwhelmed, but trying to like it.

I refuse to go upstairs because I am frightened.  The downstairs was frightening enough.

My escort and I return to the rear room.  Here is the main staircase to upstairs and my father and yanking stuff he found hidden in the ceiling over the stairway entrance.  It is a ratty old wig and some other strange clothing.  Apparently, the granny who had lived in the house was really a grampy who had a penchant for dressing like granny.  This really adds to my uneasiness about the house and I say outloud, "this place needs a priest."  I use a post hole digger to pick up the garments and wig to dispose of them.  That's the last I remember.

This bothersome dream had me in prayer wondering what the meaning is.  In a way, I think the house is me.  There are so many ways I can unpack this, but I am falling asleep as I type.