I Dream of Houses.

I dream all the time about houses. Houses, usually, but sometimes they're hotels or apartments or the like. Somewhere people spend a lot of time. It's a different place in almost every dream, but the structure is the same. I'm in a beautiful, ornate part of the house/mansion/hotel, etc. I wander away, and climb a staircase or go through a door or squeeze through a pasage, and I'm in a part of the house no one knew was there. It's covered in dust, the floors may be sagging, windows boarded up. Sometimes there's something living there, or some strange thing going on, but usually it's deserted, with bits and pieces of someone's old life there. Once it was an entire apartment in fairly good, though highly outdated, condition.

But last night/this morning, I had a dream that was so different, I didn't recognise it at first. I dreamt I was at some kind of gathering with a lot of people. We were cleaning up a field or something like that. A big community thing. I wandered away, and on a street in the town-- a fairly busy street with narrow sidewalks, running right in front of the field, there was a rental agent's. I loved the area and asked if there were rentals, and they pointed me to one. But there was another house, and I fell in love with it. It had a "For Rent" sign in front, and it was far below my current rent. There were people coming in and out-- some kind of party was going on, and when I stopped someone to ask about the rent, they very kindly took me in and gave me a tour.

It was a faux Tudor house, probably built sometime in the 70s, with a big kitchen with big, terracotta tile floors. There were lots of windows, and a low, beamed ceiling. There was a small pool in the garden, and even a jacuzzi. Everything was old, and not in the best repair, but the place was warm, full of character, and happy. The current residents were moving, and apparently I'd stumbled upon their going-away party. Lots of grandmotherly types, potato salad, and olives. They gave me the name of the landlord, who lived in Florida, and I kept repeating it to myself over and over again so I could look him up, as they didn't have his number hands-- I'll assume it was packed, though it didn't look as if anything else were.

Later, I went outside to rejoin my friends, hanging out in the street after finishing with the clean-up. It was alomost like we were waiting for the school bus after a field trip. I just kept thinking about that house.

It wasn't til much later I realised I'd been exploring a full, live house, not an empty shell. It means something.