There is a house that appears consistently in my dreams. Located in Princeton, in some perfect little location down by a river that doesn't exist but still very much in town, it backs onto a little common play area. My dreams don't really reveal much about the house except that it is very charming and we thought it would be perfect.
Obviously, it wasn't. We moved on to some other dream houses, each more defective than this one. These other houses vary from dream to dream. One was some kind of split level with wall to wall carpet. In another some of us may have slept in converted attic space.
But this perfect dream house that we had to leave recurs from dream to dream. Not that often, mind you, but sporadically. This ghost memory mushes together with other moments of primordial sadness in my psyche, like the very deep memory viewing some a profoundly tragic early Muppet movie sometime during elementary school which a little internet sleuthing shows to almost certainly to be the 1969 Hey Cinderella!, which I really must rewatch. Which reminds me I should also watch the 1972 Snoopy Come Home again.
But back to this house before I go have breakfast. Obviously there's something in this dream memory about some perfection not achieved in marriage, some ideal not reached. Oh well. As I mentioned, breakfast time is upon us. The sun is shining out the window here in Juneau, something that doesn't always happen. We must seize the day and get out while the getting's good.
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