I had a dream a few weeks ago that has stayed with me. I woke up so very very sad.
I dreamed that I was getting a house. Not just any house. It was gorgeous and big and spacious and filled with light. And it was abandoned. On my parent’s property. So, we were just going to repair some things and move in. It was filled with antique furniture, too.
It looked a lot like this.
From the second story, you could see the back of my mom’s house. There were woods in between, and a lovely trail to her house. I could just picture the kiddos running back and forth between our houses.
The only thing we worried about was being able to get to the house with a car. But on one side was a lovely carport that led to a small road going out to the main road. It was literally perfect.
I’m telling you, this house haunted me for days after that dream. I’d wander through it in my mind. I was planning which rooms would belong to which children, where I’d set up my sewing machine, what furniture would go where. The kitchen was wonderful. It had these high ceilings with beams and huge windows letting in all kinds of southern light. It was warm and welcoming, even in a disheveled, unclean state.
But this house doesn’t exist. Only in my imagination.
I guess with this last (forever, it feels like) year of transition, I’m feeling the need for a home. A place that is ours and we can put our stamp on. I don’t know when that will be. Maybe that’s why I’m mourning that house. I don’t have my own.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just a tad kooky. There’s ALWAYS that possibility.
You ever have those fabulous dream that make you sad when you wake up because they aren’t reality? I’d love to hear about them.