I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately. I’m not really certain why, but they’ve been rather odd ones, as dreams go. Now I know that dreams are the mind’s way of keeping itself occupied when one is sleeping, dredging up things from one’s past, one’s life experience and mashing them all together in one way or another. But lately I’m starting to wonder if my brain is trying to tell me something.
I had another dream last night, and it was about the status of a house I never lived in, and it was about my in-laws after they died. Specifically about the house that they lived in, except the items in the house were (for the most part) completely different. It started out with my wife and I about to go on vacation, but as I walked out of the house to pack the car, I saw a pile of roof shingles in the front yard, off to the side, under a tree that doesn’t exist in my current front yard. Looking back at the house, I could see that there were shingles missing, a great quantity of them, and there was an alcove revealed that again, doesn’t exist in my current house. My wife by then had come outside, and she and I discussed calling a roofer about fixing the issue. She goes back inside and I investigate further, seeing that there are bundles of shingles, (thousands of them) in the alcove.
As I’m wondering why this is the case, not to mention that this doesn’t exist in my current home, I’m suddenly whisked into the house, looking up at a cathedral ceiling. I’ve been transported into my in-laws house, after they’ve both died. Except that while on the outside the house looks the same, on the inside it’s quite another story. My father-in-law (Charlie), was just as much a pack rat as I am, as my own parents were. But in some ways infinitely more. When we were cleaning out the in-laws house, there were mounds and mounds of newspapers in his study, many yellowed with age, but nearly all of them had articles circled, and they were saved for one reason for another. None were historically necessary, they were just things that he’d read, circled and saved for some future need. That probably never came.
Charlie was also a collector of items that never quite made money. He was very intelligent (he served in World War II in the US Army Aircorps attaining the rank of Colonel eventually) but he had a soft spot for inventors that never really made their break.
Anyway, I’m getting off topic here. I’m standing in a room with a cathedral ceiling, looking up at artwork that must be worth many hundreds of thousands of dollars, if not millions. I can hear my wife outside of the house talking about roofing contractors, but I’m also busy marveling at all the things in different rooms of the house that apparently I never noticed before. Every room that I go into is chock full of things, but they’re neatly displayed, not just piled one thing on top of another. Old typewriters, but in pristine condition, set up in historical order from one that was nearly invented to a more modern model. Cameras, from old Kodak brownies up until ones that are digital and have more doodads than you could ever imagine, let alone know how to use. On and on, room after room of amazing items, books, film canisters, everything that you could possibly imagine.
I don’t really remember at what point I woke up, but it seemed very vivid when I did. And I’m able to relate it now, which I’ve been able to do before, but over the last couple of weeks my dreams have been just.that.vivid. Uncanny.
What does it all mean? Do I look like Freud? No idea.