07 January 2012

Another dream. A few more and I will stop writing that a rarely remember dreams.

In this one, I was at a house for the weekend. It was an old farm house that was big and sprawling and in that way like Lisa’s house, but this wasn’t Lisa’s house. I assumed it was Lisa’s parents’ house. When we were in our 20’s and dirt poor artists, a group of us would go to Lisa’s parents’ home outside of Princeton, NewJersey, for a long weekend when the parents were away on vacation. There we would be joined at time by Lisa’s brothers. We would cook great meal -- well, we thought to them as great -- lounge and swim by the pool and play in the backyard. This was before any of us had money to go to the Hamptoms or Fire Island, and before Jon and Jim started going to Mexico for extended vacations in the winter. It was lovely and we were so lucky to use that wonderful house. Even then, Lisa and I had dreams of owning something big together, of living in some sort of coop and making our lives together.

Anyway, in the dream, the house was Lisa’s parents’ house although it did not look anything at all like their house. David was there and a very old friend, Jimmy Brennan, was there. David never knew Jimmy and during the dream I was very happy that they seemed to be talking together. David became interested in speaking with him when we started to talk about children. In the dream, I could not remember if he had a son or a daughter and I thought the child, now adult, was older than Cheshire. This was all in the dream, in this reality, I have no idea of Jimmy’s life.

Lisa asked me to go into the bathroom and try to fix something. I had been imagining a tiny, mean bathroom because someone else in the dream complained about it. But it was this huge space with multiple shower head and toilets. It was run down but something that a dorm would have. And there was a door leading off somewhere. The somewhere was an industrial kitchen and dining space. And I knew that this was the place for our retreat center.

And then I woke up.

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