When my sister, Caroline, and I were young, we’d often share our dreams. They were mostly the kind of dreams you have when you’re not quite asleep but not quite awake… and then as you wake up, you let the dream turn into whatever your mind wants. We called these our “imaginings.” Now, our adolescent imaginings usually revolved around fainting in the road outside Elijah Wood’s house and having to be restored back to health by the concerned young man himself, only to find it was love at first sight.
Ahem. We were kids.
There’s much less time now for these imaginings, of any kind, for either of us. But still, every once in a while, I let my mind tug off its short leash and off it goes back into the old habit. These days, my imaginings are a bit more…shall we say… mature? 🙂
I dream about having a house all our own – a fresh start. An old character-filled place we can remodel, with a big garden that I can attack with fervor and loads of shelf space in the kitchen to accomodate the piles of dishes I plan on collecting. I dream about taking wonderful vacations with Frank and Evelyn, to Rome, Madrid, New York, Prague, Edinburgh, Disneyworld! I dream about writing a book – is that self-indulgent? Anyway, I do. I dream about spending luxurious amounts of time just hanging out with friends nd a few bottles of wine on soft summer evenings in Indiana. I dream about winning the Lotto and using the money to bring my family out for a visit and buying my parents a cabin by a lake.
I think it’s good that I still dream. Do you?
I ran across this abandoned shop front a couple weeks back when I was taking photos for my Drogheda Pub Crawl blog. It made me smile, and sort of tickled the old familiar feeling of an imagining… what would I do with a space like this?