January 8, 2010

Why house dreams?

is not only the name of my blog, but the state of my brain.

Do you have recurrent dreams?
I dream of houses.
Sometimes there are rooms and rooms, full of unknown people or full of dark corners.
Sometimes the dream people ignore the living, that's frustrating and lonely.
Sometimes, they're just moving around in a hectic manner for no reason.
Often the dreams take place in houses of my past.

Sometimes I'm viewing our first home from the driveway;
wondering why I'm back here again, while watering the plants.
Or I stroll inside to join the chaos.

Sometimes I'm in the former bedroom in the fixer upper we never could fix up.
I wonder, "How the heck did it come to this?
How did we end up back here?"
"Where are the children? Are they babies? Grown up? In between?"

I recognize those worries...the real, years-long children worries.

I no longer dream about my childhood home.
My father designed it and built it.
It was somewhat modern for the 50's,
but more artistic;
most 1950's houses felt cold.

My recurring dreams used to include that house.

Somehow danger loomed outside and I would sprint from room to room, locking doors and windows to close up the house like a fort. But, as in a scary movie, I'd suddenly remember another door that wouldn't lock or a window that wouldn't close. It was frantic and the outdoor danger could not be kept at bay. I woke in a panic.

Sometimes house dreams are more fun.
An old delightful mansion, rooms filled with antiques.
Old toys and books for me, old radios and machines for T.

The dust and spider webs aren't threatening, just atmospheric.

Those dreams are a pleasure.

I'm thankful that T. usually seems to be in my house dreams.
He's been my best friend since I was young. 21.

We've faced those house dreams together all these years.

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