When my kids were young, my daughter described her dreams as “night movies.” I liked the term, and tucked it away for future use.
I usually don’t remember dreams, but I have had a couple that were more revelations than post-pizza epiphanies. Last night’s will remain with me for awhile.
Somehow, I had ended up somewhere far away from home. I was young, single, and about to be married off to somebody very young, and very rich. I insisted that I wanted to go back to Arizona and David, and resume my life with all its accompaniments — aging, limited funds, and unending challenges. I finally prevailed, and was transported back. In fact, I woke up to the dogs blasting through the dog door to bark at the quail family sitting on the wall, who simply turned their backs and continued eating. The kitchen sat dark, and the paper was still in the driveway. Morning had broken.
So today I’m here doing what I usually do, but somehow I feel as if I have chosen this life, these people I love, and this existence. I did in a dream. I believe I would do so again in the bright light of day, if the choice was mine to make.