One of my fellow bloggers, who shall remain nameless (unless she chooses to reveal herself), has an entirely separate blog for dream journalling! I was feeling all inadequate until I saw there was only one post there, so far.
So, I remember a dream from last evening, or maybe more likely early this morning. Dwaine and I were looking for a mansion -- not a house, these things were gigantic -- in a sprawling new development, sort of out in the country but simultaneously in San Antonio. He had already gone and scoped out a number of the houses and was showing me his favorite choice. I was glad he had done so much legwork already, so I wouldn't have to spend hours upon hours touring homes.
This house had almost a solid glass front, it was so open with bright windows. It was several stories and had room after room after room. I remember going up to some middle floor and finding a gorgeous, airy and naturally lit breakfast nook, with its own kitchen and refrigerator. Upon which I started thinking thoughts like, we'll have to buy double on groceries to keep this frig and the other one both stocked. Every room was lovely and picturesque. I really could fall in love with this house.
I liked this home very much, I thought, and that was when things started to sour. I looked out the huge window and discovered, to my dawning horror, that IH-10 just happened to be a mere stone's throw away! (Yes, I had been oblivious to this and then it appeared from nowhere, in the way things sometimes do in dreams.) It was so close, I probably would have felt the air blasting away from the vehicles as it was displaced. There wasn't even a front yard; just the raised concrete sides of the freeway, with cars and trucks and 18-wheelers careening past. It dawned on me that the traffic was quite loud, and I realized this was no country atmosphere after all! We'd have to go deeper into the subdivision to find something appropriate.
But then we had gathered downstairs and the subdivision developer was there, in the house, sitting at a table, giving some kind of obnoxious and hard-core sales pitch, and I became aware that I disliked him intensely. Detested all he stood for, in fact. I went right over to him and I think I must have been shouting at him, right in his face, I was so upset. I think Dwaine was in the background, probably stunned and telling me to tone it down. Perhaps I was even calling the salesman/owner names. Also, he was quite misogynistic, and this fact was simply the last straw. I was telling him what a poor businessman he was for being that way, because didn't he know how much power women had over making decisions about what house to buy? I was furious.
So this was how the dream ended. I don't think I ended up in that mansion or in any other. And in truth, it does offend my moral sensibilities to think of living that way. Yet there's something so attractive and even lovely about the notion, too. Just another way in which I am schizophrenic, and I have to live with this cacophony and cognitive dissonance in my head. A poor person, plopped into a rich person's life, and not even particularly grateful to be there.
But also, what of this saying? "In my father's house there are many rooms*. I go there to prepare a place for you. If it were not so, I would have told you. You know the way to the place where I am going." * I always want to substitute the word "mansions" for rooms, as this is the image that comes to my mind. It's on a magnificently grand scale, this place I visualize.
My thoroughly domestic husband is sitting at the dining room table making hard-boiled eggs into little bunny heads, and putting out Easter decor. Good thing there's somebody in the house who likes to decorate for the seasons and holidays! If I were more dexterous with technology and our computer were faster, I might actually take a picture of his egg creations, nestled in fluffy fake grass inside an Easter basket (until they have to go back into the refrigerator again). But don't hold your breath!
Addendum: Did you hold your breath anyhow, even though I told you not to? Well, voila! Your patience has been rewarded.
One little bunny egg seems comfortable sharing space beside the peanut butter and a bottle of beer, nestled close to its fellow eggs, in the frig.
So, I remember a dream from last evening, or maybe more likely early this morning. Dwaine and I were looking for a mansion -- not a house, these things were gigantic -- in a sprawling new development, sort of out in the country but simultaneously in San Antonio. He had already gone and scoped out a number of the houses and was showing me his favorite choice. I was glad he had done so much legwork already, so I wouldn't have to spend hours upon hours touring homes.
This house had almost a solid glass front, it was so open with bright windows. It was several stories and had room after room after room. I remember going up to some middle floor and finding a gorgeous, airy and naturally lit breakfast nook, with its own kitchen and refrigerator. Upon which I started thinking thoughts like, we'll have to buy double on groceries to keep this frig and the other one both stocked. Every room was lovely and picturesque. I really could fall in love with this house.
I liked this home very much, I thought, and that was when things started to sour. I looked out the huge window and discovered, to my dawning horror, that IH-10 just happened to be a mere stone's throw away! (Yes, I had been oblivious to this and then it appeared from nowhere, in the way things sometimes do in dreams.) It was so close, I probably would have felt the air blasting away from the vehicles as it was displaced. There wasn't even a front yard; just the raised concrete sides of the freeway, with cars and trucks and 18-wheelers careening past. It dawned on me that the traffic was quite loud, and I realized this was no country atmosphere after all! We'd have to go deeper into the subdivision to find something appropriate.
But then we had gathered downstairs and the subdivision developer was there, in the house, sitting at a table, giving some kind of obnoxious and hard-core sales pitch, and I became aware that I disliked him intensely. Detested all he stood for, in fact. I went right over to him and I think I must have been shouting at him, right in his face, I was so upset. I think Dwaine was in the background, probably stunned and telling me to tone it down. Perhaps I was even calling the salesman/owner names. Also, he was quite misogynistic, and this fact was simply the last straw. I was telling him what a poor businessman he was for being that way, because didn't he know how much power women had over making decisions about what house to buy? I was furious.
So this was how the dream ended. I don't think I ended up in that mansion or in any other. And in truth, it does offend my moral sensibilities to think of living that way. Yet there's something so attractive and even lovely about the notion, too. Just another way in which I am schizophrenic, and I have to live with this cacophony and cognitive dissonance in my head. A poor person, plopped into a rich person's life, and not even particularly grateful to be there.
But also, what of this saying? "In my father's house there are many rooms*. I go there to prepare a place for you. If it were not so, I would have told you. You know the way to the place where I am going." * I always want to substitute the word "mansions" for rooms, as this is the image that comes to my mind. It's on a magnificently grand scale, this place I visualize.
My thoroughly domestic husband is sitting at the dining room table making hard-boiled eggs into little bunny heads, and putting out Easter decor. Good thing there's somebody in the house who likes to decorate for the seasons and holidays! If I were more dexterous with technology and our computer were faster, I might actually take a picture of his egg creations, nestled in fluffy fake grass inside an Easter basket (until they have to go back into the refrigerator again). But don't hold your breath!
Addendum: Did you hold your breath anyhow, even though I told you not to? Well, voila! Your patience has been rewarded.
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| Are they real egg-bunnies, or Memorex? |
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