Life

Dream. Home.

Sam Falco
Daily writing prompt
Write about your dream home.
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I live in a 1920’s-era Spanish Revival style home with three bedrooms and two baths. It is roomy enough for two people with no children, and yet I often dream that it is larger than it is.

I’ve had this thematically recurring dream for decades. I find a door, a stairway, or a ladder that leads to a space several times as large as I have. Sometimes, the new space surprises me. The first time I remember the dream was when I was in grad school, living in a tiny one-bedroom apartment. I found an iron, spiral staircase leading up and discovered it led to a glass-walled arboretum filled with exotic, tropical plants. Since then, I’ve dreamed of cavernous basements, rooms that I vaguely remember having closed off years before, and whole new wings of the house I live in now. Sometimes, I even remember within the dream that I’ve had dreams like this before. Of course, in keeping with the way dreams work, I never realize that I’m also dreaming now.

When Sweetie and I began getting rid of clutter last year, we were both stunned at how much more space we had than we realized in the basement and the cedar closet in the hall. I said it seemed like one of my dreams and she said, “But this is real.” And I said, “That’s exactly what you would say if I were dreaming.” Then she poked me in the ribs, we started giggling, and I didn’t wake up, so it must have been real.

But when I do have these dreams, what’s going on? I once read an article about researchers who believed they had proved rats dream and, in their dreams, plan how to get food. Maybe dreams are a way of mentally rehearsing our lives and my subconscious occasionally reminds me to look for opportunities and options I have forgotten I have.

What if I didn’t sit?

Sam Falco

Yesterday, when I returned home after running a couple errands, I had a few tasks left on my to-do list. The familiar thought that crossed my mind was, “I’ll start them after I sit for a few minutes.” And then I thought, “What if I didn’t sit?” Sweetie wasn’t due home for a couple hours and there were many things I could do around the house beyond the basic to-do. What could I accomplish if I refused to sit?

A lot, it turned out. After knocking out the to-do list, I started tidying the office. It had become super cluttered over the past month. The built-in cabinet was a mess. The chair I used to like sitting in for journal entries was piled high with supplies I couldn’t put away because the cabinet wouldn’t hold anything else. Papers covered my desk. I kept at it until the only thing that still wants attention is a rolling cart that has an assortment of odds and ends. I’d have put them away, too, but Sweetie came home earlier than I expected and off we went for dinner at our favorite Chinese restaurant.

I have developed a habit of doing a small thing and then rewarding myself by sitting “for a few minutes.” I have a hard time doing nothing, so I pick up a book, become absorbed, and a few minutes turns into thirty or more. I’ll set a new goal for when I’ll get up. It’s easier to keep reading and more fun, too. The cycle repeats and time slips away. I’ve read a lot, but necessary tasks pile up. The sheer volume of stuff to do intimidates me and… well, it’s so overwhelming that I have to sit down.

I don’t need to rest after fifteen minutes of light activity. Or even two hours. I’m even standing up as I type this post. I’ve put a sticky note on the cover of my Kindle, my laptop, and at the top of my computer screen: “What if I didn’t sit?” I bet I’ll get more done.