Lost and Found for Dreams

I found an old dream the other night. It had been lost for a long time.

Not so much lost.  Misplaced. It had been in a pile with other dreams and kept getting pushed aside. It finally gathered so much dust, it must have just fallen off the pile and blown under the fridge into the corner gathering more dust and some dog hair and bits of gold fish crackers.

But I’ve been looking for it.

Missing it.

Needing it.

So I was looking in all the familiar places for my dream. Trying to remember when I’d last seen it.

Felt it.

Believed in it.

I remember asking my Grandma about something I’d lost. “Where did you have it last?” The most unhelpful question ever. If I knew where I had it, I knew where it’d be. My dream was like that. I can’t remember where I had it last.

It was always there, in the pile with the other dreams, but when that pile got cleared out- my old dream was missing too.

You see, I had a big pile of dreams get cleared out recently. They were all pretty well stacked and clean though some were dustier than others and the pile wasn’t particularly organized. But they were there, my dreams. And then they all had to be thrown out.

And so I needed my old dreams and a few new ones too. Because I like having a pile of dreams around.  Like how I don’t like to run out of chocolate. Or wine. How I like down comforters and lots of pillows. And a certain pair of pajamas (pink flannel with martini glasses and olives, of course). Like piles of books that I’ve read and want to read. Pictures of my kids. It just makes me feel better.

So, the other night, I found this old dream. And I washed it off and looked it over and all that time under the fridge, in the corner, lost– did it no damage whatsoever.

It’s as good a dream as it ever was. And I have it on a high shelf now. Safe.

 

What about you? Do you like having dreams or do they feel foolish?