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Dreamscape No. 1

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If winter was not so long, I would enjoy it. But since it is, I’ll dream of spring and summer instead.

 

My house of dreams

There is always spring or summer when I dream of my future house. Like there is almost always a green season in Midsomer Murders.

My house is neither big nor small. It is made in the style of 1920s-30s wooden villas. Its most important outward feature is a veranda. My house must have a veranda.

Enter the veranda and you enter paradise. There are many large plants scattered about and a swing in the middle of the room. Naturally, the swing is not just any plastic swing. In one corner is a piano. At nights, it becomes lit up with candles, like the rest of the veranda. And the moonbeams peak in and mingle with candlelight. The veranda has windows on all three sides, and somewhere is a door with access to the garden. Sometimes I like to sit on the staircase and breathe in the night air.

There are cushions and some makeshift bed or sofa for guests and for me. The arrangement is rather chaotic and free. I imagine myself lounging in the corner sofa, candles are all lit and someone plays the piano. Later we talk. And crickets make a racket outside because it is a warm July night.

Or I daydream on my veranda during the day. Dangling my legs on the swing and wishing impossible things. There’s a small bookshelf in one corner and on rainy days I may pop in for a reading, with a cup of green tea.

The rest of my house. What more can be said. Veranda is the highest achievement of my lyrical imagination. But I will describe what else is there too. Maybe I want to compare one of those days.

I like little nooks and nests and unusual placement of furniture.  I’m frightfully lazy regrettably often, so I want my daybed to be built inside a wall like a closet or by the window, with drawers at one end. Then, if I need a pencil all of a sudden, I wouldn’t have to get up to get it. Oh yeah. Shame on the laziness.

And yes, I must have a daybed. This is where I make my nest and retreat when the world and people are a bit much. Veranda is a more social place. In the veranda, everyone is welcome to dream with me. In my nest, I want to be alone.

I’d like the carpet to be grass green. When I was around five, I  saw my aunt having a grass green carpet and I’ve always wanted one in the same shade.

Upstairs there are a few unusual design elements I can’t currently imagine, but which will come to me while renovating. The rest is rather traditional old-fashioned style of some sort. I’m not choosy, as long is it isn’t minimalist.

Sometimes I think it’d be fun to have a slide indoors, coming down the stairs. But maybe it’d take up too much space. And a secret passage into the cellar in case burglars or other bad people invade. Or simply a secret room behind the bookshelf.

Outdoors there is a garden. It’s a little bit wild and I like to keep it that way. The grass is allowed to grow slightly longer than on football pitches. And sometimes flowers and weeds have a bit of an open warfare as well. I interfere when it starts offending my taste.

In one corner is a little private garden nook completely enclosed and wrapped around with ivy or other overgrowing plants. This is where I go when I don’t want neighbours to see what I do in the garden. Which is most of the time. But alas, one cannot enclose the entire garden in ivy. It would attract suspicion.

In that garden nook are some seats and a sofa for outdoor lounging. Writing. Working. Eating cherries and chatting with kindred spirits.

The inhabitants of my garden also include lilacs, roses, lilies of the valley, peonies, jasmines, tulips, narcissi, and since it is a fantasy, I’ll throw in ylang ylangs for the delightful sweetness.

And with that list of intoxicatingly sweet flowers, this particular dream turns into a scent and floats away.

Rose

I wish something exciting would happen

Whenever I have really wished for something, it has come into my life. Usually in the form of an opportunity, not a ready-made-wish-fulfilled. But it has come. Then it has been up to me to do what I will with it. Use it, realise I don’t want it after all, or make a mess of it.

Only a few days ago I was infinitely bored with life. Nothing exciting seemed to happen and there seemed no opportunities for me to do anything about it either. Sort of like Sherlock Holmes or Hercule Poirot must have felt when they hadn’t had a case for weeks. I have the same craving for mystery and puzzles. Extreme sports does not provide the kind of excitement I long for. Neither does travel as such.

When I get bored with life and wish something exciting would happen, I wish for some stranger to put a little crossword puzzle in my coat pocket or a coded message. I wish to meet some new captivating individual who is unlike anyone I’ve ever known. And preferably, to meet that individual under very unusual circumstances. I wish someone would suggest I could come spend a week at their cottage and sleep in the loft. I’d spend weeks dreaming of it and my mind would grow quite intoxicated with all the pastoral dreamscapes.

But nothing THAT exciting ever happens. And if it sometimes does, it gives me my fill of excitement for a week.

Conclusion: wish more, wish with all your heart. It works more often than not.