Do dreams change from age ten to age sixty-five?

When I was in the Fourth Grade at Howard Elementary School in Madera, California, our assignment was to draw our dream home.

While everyone else was drawing castles and mansions, and huge ranch houses with all the modern conveniences, I drew a little thatched cottage with red roses growing around the door.

The interesting thing is that fifty six years later,  my idea of the perfect home hasn’t changed much. It doesn’t need to be thatched, and I’ve added a porch with a rocking chair – very important ingredients for a happy life.

And of course there needs to be a space for a studio and library.   It doesn’t have to be detached, but that would be nice, although, I like having my workspace near my living space, because I like to go back and forth between my dream life and real life. Washing dishes can be incorporated into any fantasy.

Somewhere in there is Brian’s man cave. Can’t have a dream life without  the leprechaun.

Dogs and cats are a must. Sheep and horses and cows would be the window dressing of life. I like having them close by, but I would prefer that they belonged to someone else. I don’t want to have to take care of them.

The woods – must have the woods nearby, for wandering. A little stream with fishies and frogs would be nice.

And birds – let there be birds – the only kind of twitter I subscribe to.

And, just so you know, the national house plant of Ireland is the geranium.

A little later, while the other girls were dreaming of becoming mommies, my friend, Janice, and I discussed running an orphanage for children who didn’t have anyone to love them. I lost track of Janice, so I don’t know how that played out for her.

As for me, I became a preschool teacher, instead. I go to school and I love the children and then they go home, and I go home. It’s kind of like the sheep and horses and cows in the precious dream: I like it much better when someone else has the final responsibility for them.