The Land of Winkin, Blinkin and Nod
I'm not exactly positive, but I AM fairly certain that I am addicted to my dreams. Well, not the dead people (living dead or strangers dying), or not exactly the Apocalyptic Events that occurs in front of my very eyes, but the color, the houses, the detail. I owe awesome houses in those dreams and the houses contain the clutter of prior occupants -- left behind furniture, plants, books, knickknacks. It is rather like living in a Mary Randolph Carter space or Edward Gorey's Elephant House. I am constantly going about my way in MY HOUSE and discovering new things. (This is true, as well, when I'm wandering about my dream neighborhoods, a segment of a city or a small town which are always all mine, although I've never seen or been there in real life.) So, in my wanderings I come across the coolest things ever. For example, this week, I was in my brick Victorian house and I was going to a lace-curtained window to look at the snowfall upon the roof patio (and William was there, packing snow or building some snow angel or snow monster or maybe just kicking it over the edge) when I gently pulled back the lacy curtain, there on the window ledge laid a number of tomes of ancient fiction in covers of dusty brown and faded red, then, upon these books sat a number of small, gray, glazed, porcelain birds detailed with eyes, wings, tail feathers in a medium blue paint, maker-marked in the same color in the middle of their backs. "Birds in a window," I thought to myself in the dream, "how wondrous." Last night, it was a dwelling of rooms, single apartments filled with people and children and clothes and books and all they wanted to do was sleep upon fluffy pillows, beneath heavy quilts, huddled and cuddled in slumber and there I was running about like a hyper three-year old trying to gather plush, winged kittens and fat, brown teddy bears and bright yellow Tonka trucks and robots with flashing red eyes, as well as beach balls, yo-yos and plastic, pink slinkies. I mean, dreams, they don't get much better than that, do they?