Ron’s Dream: We are living in a new house. He is walking through the house. It’s looking good. It’s night. He opens the back door and discovers that the entire back yard is a swamp of nothing but mud and shit. For some reason he must cross the yard to get something or somewhere. He is wading up to his knees in swamp shit. That’s our yard. He wonders if he will get a foot infection from walking through the swamp.
Transparent dream for someone buying a new house. When Ron told me this dream, it put me over the edge. I could not breathe for laughing. I could see it as a metaphor for the past five months, looking at houses too small, too dark, no yard whatsoever, big yard full of poison oak, no bathtub, bathtub in the garage, toilet on the roof, refrigerator in the tool shed, fence in the living room, chickens in the fireplace, geese in the washer. Oh yes, we can make this work, we can make do with this. We’ll just scrape the cottage cheese texturing off the ceiling. This pantry would be perfect as a library. We’ll steam the wallpaper off the toilet. We’ll remodel, knock out a wall or two, build an upstairs. They ripped out all the trees to improve the view? No problem. We’ll replant trees. This was once a methamphetamine lab? No big deal, we’ll repaint. The swimming pool is shot? Okey-dokey, we’ll make it into a skate park. Two acres of dead grape vines? Fine, we’ll start a vine cemetery. We’re imaginative, we’re flexible. Swamp full of shit in the back yard? We’ll start a salamander farm, put in a hot tub, plant bamboo, hang up a wind chime. Have a margarita, grab a floatie, and have a soak in our new mud bath. Will I ever go home again? Yes. Home is where the heart is and even though I say my heart is at the Ranch, I know that my heart is with Ron. Wherever he lives is home for me.