17 Jul

Dreaming Home

Since I was in my early 20’s (& maybe earlier), I’ve dreamed of our family’s old country home at least twice a year, returning to discover dimensions and qualities and inhabitants that I never found in my 3 dimensional childhood. That home keeps creeping into my writing–sometimes more as a personality or quality than a physical place.

We sold the house when I was 12, after my parents divorced, and moved into the city. 4 years ago (in the physical world) I stopped by on the way back from a country wedding, just to see the changes–something I’ve done every few years when I’m out that way. This time, the changes were shocking and more surreal than any I experienced in Slumberland. I’ll write about them in a future post–it was unsettling in a Ballardian post-apocalyptic way that I can’t describe in a few sentences.

Some dreams stick and don’t need to be journaled–especially those with recurring themes or unique dreams that include sensory experiences like the taste of perfect bread (real dream–a teaching dream) or one’s murder (real dream and thankfully only once, although I did get a small award for the story it inspired).

4 thoughts on “Dreaming Home

  1. You’ve said a lot without saying much in this post. Reminds me of my grandfather’s house in which we lived for some time while in the same town. Even though we didn’t live there long it was home to me in the way that adults imagine the home of their childhood. I have never been back after my grandfather died and when I do go back to the house now owned by other people I am convinced it will be a surreal experience…

  2. Since we moved, on average, once every two years when I was a child, and multiple times during my time in the military, I don’t actually have an ancestral home. I have fond memories of many of them, and periodically I fly over them via Google Earth. However, several of them no longer exist. The lot where our house in Lebanon was (Illinois, not the country) is now part of a small sectarian college campus. Our first home together in West Row, Mildenhall, Cambs, UK, has been replaced by what looks like a US style subdivision. For that matter, the dorm I lived in at SJSC, and its five companions, have all been torn down, rebuilt, replaced.

    I remember an author, Loren Eiseley (worth reading, you could wiki him), saying that for years he had mentally sat beneath the shade of the oak tree he and his father had planted decades earlier. When he finally visited the place, the tree had been cut down.

  3. I do know of Loren Eisley, swiped a couple of collections by him from my Dad years ago. First science writer/scientist I encountered who was a poet, even if in prose.

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