One of the things I've been listening to as I drive around these days is the Broadway production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, so I have all those songs bopping around in my head. It occurred to me, as I was listening to
"Strange as it seems, there's been a run of crazy dreams. . . "
that I have one, or some, to write about.
I dream vividly, but remember almost nothing of the amazing technicolor madness of my own mind once I am fully awake. However, I've realized this week that I've been having a recurring dream, and variations on same, that leave me exhausted. I know that there are some folks around, Theresa, for instance, who are really into dream imagery and symbolism, and I'd love to hear their take, and anyone else's, on my little mansion series.
In real life, we live in a house that is reasonably but not obscenely large. It's a center-hall brick colonial so it looks a little massive, and there are four rooms on the first and second floors and two on the third (not counting bathrooms). It's pretty typical for our 90-year-old neighborhood, which means the windows are all double-hung, the woodwork is beautiful, and a lot of things don't work. When we moved in we were expecting twins, although we didn't know about the twin part yet, and we've been able to comfortably accomodate three children and a live-in nanny, and to squeeze in 50 people for Christmas dinner (given that they are all willing to sit or stand just about anywhere). The yard is 1917-tiny and the garage was built for a buggy, I guess. A number of the homes around here have carriage houses, but there's no sign that our tiny lot ever accomodated horses. (Supposedly the church lot behind us was originally a racetrack, though!)
Anyway, the dream:
In these dreams, we are moving into a new home. IT's HUGE. There are rooms all over the place. So many rooms that a decorator would have a hard time finding pleasure in her job, and this writer is no decorator. Usually the house is also old, with all kinds of odd nooks ands crannies, but the most recent one looked like it had been built on Long Island Sound in the last 20 years.
Just as we are realizing that we have actually purchased this place and that there's no going back, we open a door and find a whole new suite of three or four rooms. Sometimes they are in the basement and they look like someone tried to make an addition in the form of a bomb shelter. Sometimes they are in the attic, and they look like someone added an entire new floor and wing. I keep trying to find furniture for them, but no one in their right mind would own that much furniture. Then I think about how we could just close the door and pretend for as long as we live there that those rooms don't exist.
So go for it, dear readers.
"Any dream, any dream will do."