Simple Dream

 Simple Dream

So, I had this dream. You know the kind of dream that visits you right when you’re about to get up? The details of my dream are mostly insignificant despite the number of words I’m about to use in describing them. In the dream, I was living at Aunt Pat and Uncle Harold‘s house, like I did for a couple of years in college. But it was a totally different house. And I was a middle-aged man, like I am now, not a twenty-few year old, like I was then. Also notably different from our current reality is the fact that, in the dream, Harold was still with us. 

There were no dramatic events in the dream. It was a simple dream. (Tangentially, I wrote one of my first, and worst, songs when I lived in Pat and Harold’s basement. It was called “Simple Dream.“ Looking back, I can certainly say that “Simple Dream” was simply not good, which is why no one but me and Jesus has ever heard that song.  For the sake of us all, we’re gonna keep it that way.)  In this dream I could hear Pat and Harold arguing, which happened on occasion in the way back when. They were arguing because Harold was still working despite the toll his diabetes had taken on him. But he was no longer really physically able do his work as a pharmacist. It was just too much. (Tangentially, it wasn’t too much for him in real life when he thwarted that attempted robbery. True story.)  

In the dream, I was walking just outside the house when Pat stormed out and asked me if I would work at the pharmacy. I assumed that she meant for me to take a job at the pharmacy to help Harold. But in the dream, I had just started a new job. So I was conflicted about her request, because I had a new job that I didn’t want to abandon, and which I was hoping would work out well. However, as it turned out, she just thought he needed help with a big project; so I could help, after all. 

For some reason, he brought this big project, a big case of pharmacy products, up to my bedroom. Maybe the case’s contents needed sorting or something. No idea. Not important. In this dream, I lived upstairs, not in the basement. When I actually lived with them in college, it was in their basement. But in the dream, my good dog Leia, who is currently sleeping soundly on the sofa in real life, was in my room sleeping soundly on my bed, and just like in real life, she was not a fan of strangers, or anyone who is not a part of her “pack.” I was explaining this fact to Harold, and Leia was just fine; she didn’t growl or grumble or anything. (Does this mean that in dreamland, Harold is an accepted part of her pack?)  And then I woke up.

None of those details of my dream is significant in any way. The thing that is significant is something that I’ve also noticed with other dreams about other people who are no longer with us on this earth.  The significant thing……was simply the feeling that I had upon waking. My feeling was, “it sure was nice to see Harold again.”  It was that same sort of feeling that you have when you haven’t seen someone that you really care about in a long time, but you unexpectedly bump into that person out in the world, in your regular, busy, maybe even oblivious daily goings on. Maybe you see that person at the grocery store, or the library, or a restaurant, or even a doctor’s office. And you chat for a moment, reconnect, then resume your daily doings.  The significant part of that simple dream is the simple fact that it is that same feeling, emotion, connection. It feels the same. It’s what you feel after that unexpected reunion when you get back in your car to resume your errands, or your work, or the seemingly endless string of whatevers with which we fill our minds and our many (mini) moments. That feeling is this feeling: “It sure was nice to see them again, if only for a moment.”  

And, for me, waking up from my dream, I yawned; and I stretched. And I said out loud to my room full of baseball photos, family photos, and poorly played tenor guitars and ukuleles, “It sure was nice to see Harold again.”  It sure was.