Dreaming

This morning and yesterday morning both, I started my day in dream state. By this I mean that I started waking just enough to not only remember the most vivid of details about the dream in which I was immersed, but was able to control the dream.

Me, mom and the boys were moving into this amazing house that an elderly woman had left to us. She wasn't dead, but close to it and wanted to see that her belongings made it to their rightful owners before her demise.

The house was full of delightful treasures from the past such as a strange old tricycle that was sized for an adult and had no pedals. Beautiful porcelain bowls were on dark wood shelves. The house itself was three levels and set into the side of a hill. The uppermost level was the kitchen, living room, and bedrooms. It was arranged very peculiarly. We were apparently living in a guest house because we were moving our belongings by carrying them across a large yard. There were men around from museums laying claim to the antique furniture and paintings. They were like children in a toy store.

In my dream, I was seeing the inside of the house for the first time. Many people were there to help, so it was a very lively and chatter-filled atmosphere. I set a box down on the kitchen table, wiped my brow and looked around. Time to explore.
The kitchen looked like that of what I would romanticize a French farmhouse kitchen to look like, High cabinets, long white sink, large cast iron gas stove, heavy wood table, a bank of open windows facing an overgrown garden and a scraggly old cat meowing for attention. It was bliss.

From where I stood, I could see three adjacent rooms. First, down a few steps, was a sun-room filled with potted plants and white wicker furniture. There was a forgotten bundle of knitting tucked under a rocker. Second, a cool dark pantry with shelves high with home-canned jams, pickles and lord only knows what else. Third was the dining room. This is where the enchantment turned to fairy-tale status.

The walls were wainscot. The chairs were high and they were gold and ivory. The table was long and polished. Above it hung a gleaming chandelier. This room was from a different time. A china cabinet boasted stacks and stacks of what was probably some fabulous rare place-settings. I ran my hands across the tops of the chairs imagining the men and women in their best silk sitting around this table being proper and chic.

Past the dining room, a sitting room. Already cleared of it's furnishings appeared larger than it really was, which wasn't at all small to begin with. The heavy velvet curtains still hung from the high windows. The fireplace clean, but faint scent of ash lingered telling me that it had been used recently.

Beyond this was the formal entrance. Large, marble, white, and empty. An open hallway leading to a few other rooms. Opposite were I stood, a door. Nothing fancy, just...a door. My footsteps echoed a little too loudly as I crossed. I felt like Alice exploring Wonderland. Curiouser and curiouser.

The other side was not at all what I expected. The air seemed stale here. I stepped down a short flight of steps into a 1970's basement. I don't know how else to describe it. There were two large armless chairs covered in orange and brown plaid set on a raised platform. There was dark wood paneling on the walls. Symmetrical metal wall art. Shelves from floor to ceiling covered in dusty old paperbacks and LP records. In the center of the wall was a honest to goodness hi-fi stereo system complete with 8-track. I'd walked into yet another time capsule that conflicted entirely with the first.

To the left, a narrow hall. Mom comes in and I ask her if there are any rooms that would make a fitting studio. She grins the biggest grin I've ever seen on her face and tucks her arm under mine. Right this way. Down the hall we go. A few more steps down. Past more doors of rooms being packed up. The air seems to lighten, become fresh again. Then the hall ended in double doors. Dramatically, mom throws them both open and watches my face for reaction. I'm stunned.

The lowest level of this bizarre house is an enormous ballroom. It's larger than any school gymnasium I've ever been in. The parquet floor is polished brightly. At one end, there are windows that reach the entire two-story height of the wall. they are filled with very old thick glass, the kind that is heavy at the bottom from years of slowly flowing glass. Banquet tables are lined up in front of what appears to be a projector screen at the other end. I presume the last time this room was used was for a business meeting of some sort. I can imagine a bunch of giggling children with their sleeping bags and popcorn enjoying a movie night. I'm lost in the possibilities.

A man in coveralls pops his head in the door as if looking for something. He looks a bit like a popular teen heart-throb that I don't particularly find attractive. He sees me standing there taking in the room with amazement. When I see him he grins and jokingly asks if I care to dance. How could I not want to dance in this wondrous space. We spin around the floor in a very fast waltz and laugh ourselves breathless. He's not a very good dancer. We collapse to the floor to recover.

And I wake, disappointed.