I dreamt of my father again last night, the third or fourth time I’ve done so since he died in January. In the dream, he was alive again, and while not young, he was in his late ’50s or early ’60s, as opposed to his mid-’70s, looking sort of like he did in this photo.

I was visiting him in the living room of a house or apartment, only it wasn’t a place where he and my mother had ever lived in real life. I was showing him something online, and the site we were looking at wasn’t appearing on a desktop, laptop, or iPhone—the screen was being projected, taller than a person, on the wall of the room in which we spoke. And as I showed him various sites, he became concerned that I was downloading too many megabytes, that it would be too expensive.

He got up and leaned against the wall, scrolling through the pages by dragging his hands up and down quickly, making them whiz by, saying that this would all be too expensive for his internet provider. He worried about the cost of all the pages I was showing him. I wish I could remember exactly what sites it was I was trying to visit with him, but I can’t.

I expressed shock that his internet provider was so tight with the megabytes, and promised to find him a better one. I woke as we discussed this.

I’m thinking that perhaps I had this dream because of Charlie Brown, and the appreciation I wrote for him yesterday at Sci Fi Wire. While I was writing it, which wasn’t easy, something popped into my head and I thought, “Oh, I’ve got to to tell Dad about that,” then remembered, “Oh … that’s right … I can’t.”

So Dad was already in my mind yesterday more than he is during a typical day, perhaps sparking the dream. Whatever the reason, it was nice to see him again.