Dream
I have a dream.
Not like Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream, but a more girly, self-centered dream.
And sure, I have lots of dreams and hopes and visions for this world and my life, but on this particular day, I have a dream just for me; about a beach, a lazy day, a book and serenity.
This dream starts on that beach. It looks similar to The Hamptons, but less stuffy and less populated. There are large, white homes that resemble a Rhode-Island-beachy feel (Alex will love that). They have shutter windows and transparent, jerysey-cotton sheets and curtains. The bathroom has a claw-foot tub that magically fills with pink Begonia petals and lemons. The sand is a shade of taupe with sparkling, white diamonds. The sun is out, but it is not beaming; the breeze is swift, but not alarming. The ocean waves are not crashing, but lightly humming a song.
I am positioned-not upright and not lying down-in a cozy beach chair. It's the perfect size for me, which probably means it is a child's sun-bathing chair. I have an oversized, straw hat that is probably meant for the horse races, and a cute, tiny wraparound-in shades of green and white-for my swimsuit. I have a large glass of sweet tea beside me, and a bag of yogurt pretzels. Maybe they should be triscuits, instead.
I'm reading a book that tells the story of a young lady right out of college, her dog, and her high-rise apartment in Manhattan that she is very proud of. She's contemplating the meaning of her life and why on earth she hasn't found Mr. Right. She is a hobby-writer, and a paper-pusher at a law firm. She enjoys coffee and paninis on little, rod-iron and tile-covered tables around the corner. She also loves a good farmer's market on Saturdays, where she picks fresh flowers, avocados and tomatoes. Her and I have a lot of things in common; except the wondering about life and where is Mr. Right; I don't have those worries anymore.
I'll continue reading, probably for hours, and bask in the sun. (My skin is good to me in the fact that it never burns. I probably don't treat it very well in return.) Every now and then, I'll close my eyes, listen to the waves, and take a "cat-nap". I'll daydream about decorating my house and painting the walls, celebrating little kiddo's birthday parties, and having a 25th wedding anniversary. Then, I'll continue reading as my heroine takes a job as a writer and teacher in North Carolina, where she finds Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, has 3 babies and buys a sailboat.
Just as the sun is making its downward approach, I'll pick up my things and venture into the house. I'll take out the spinach, tomatoes, broccoli, and potatoes that I hand-picked, after riding my bike, down the street that morning. I'll grab the chicken that has been marinating in Italian dressing all day, and I'll turn on my stove. I'll also turn on my iPod (Alex will love that, too) where I've placed a relaxing mix of Colbie Caillat, Francesca Battistelli, Maroon 5, and John Mayer. They'll sing me onto Cloud 9, if I wasn't there already. I'm absolutely sure of it.
I'll water the lillies and daisies that I've placed in eccentric glasses-which I also found that morning. I'll light a few candles, open up the windows, and enjoy every bite of what I think is Top Chef material. Obviously, I'll have a peice of light, fluffy, smooth chocolate cake afterwards. I mean, you don't give a mouse a cookie without giving him a glass of milk...
I will have spent an entire day without a worry or a care. I will have relaxed and rejuvenated and spent some time for me. And I will have done some of my most favorite things in one day. I will have slowed down and remembered to enjoy my life, and I will have reflected on all the wonderful days I've had before and the days that are yet to come.
Whether I live this moment on Earth or request a similar setting in Heaven, I will hold onto this dream just for me. I will paint pictures with it, draw some ideas, and write it all down.
And so you see, I do, in fact, have a dream.
Not like Martin Luther King, Jr. had a dream, but a more girly, self-centered dream.
And sure, I have lots of dreams and hopes and visions for this world and my life, but on this particular day, I have a dream just for me; about a beach, a lazy day, a book and serenity.
This dream starts on that beach. It looks similar to The Hamptons, but less stuffy and less populated. There are large, white homes that resemble a Rhode-Island-beachy feel (Alex will love that). They have shutter windows and transparent, jerysey-cotton sheets and curtains. The bathroom has a claw-foot tub that magically fills with pink Begonia petals and lemons. The sand is a shade of taupe with sparkling, white diamonds. The sun is out, but it is not beaming; the breeze is swift, but not alarming. The ocean waves are not crashing, but lightly humming a song.
I am positioned-not upright and not lying down-in a cozy beach chair. It's the perfect size for me, which probably means it is a child's sun-bathing chair. I have an oversized, straw hat that is probably meant for the horse races, and a cute, tiny wraparound-in shades of green and white-for my swimsuit. I have a large glass of sweet tea beside me, and a bag of yogurt pretzels. Maybe they should be triscuits, instead.
I'm reading a book that tells the story of a young lady right out of college, her dog, and her high-rise apartment in Manhattan that she is very proud of. She's contemplating the meaning of her life and why on earth she hasn't found Mr. Right. She is a hobby-writer, and a paper-pusher at a law firm. She enjoys coffee and paninis on little, rod-iron and tile-covered tables around the corner. She also loves a good farmer's market on Saturdays, where she picks fresh flowers, avocados and tomatoes. Her and I have a lot of things in common; except the wondering about life and where is Mr. Right; I don't have those worries anymore.
I'll continue reading, probably for hours, and bask in the sun. (My skin is good to me in the fact that it never burns. I probably don't treat it very well in return.) Every now and then, I'll close my eyes, listen to the waves, and take a "cat-nap". I'll daydream about decorating my house and painting the walls, celebrating little kiddo's birthday parties, and having a 25th wedding anniversary. Then, I'll continue reading as my heroine takes a job as a writer and teacher in North Carolina, where she finds Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome, has 3 babies and buys a sailboat.
Just as the sun is making its downward approach, I'll pick up my things and venture into the house. I'll take out the spinach, tomatoes, broccoli, and potatoes that I hand-picked, after riding my bike, down the street that morning. I'll grab the chicken that has been marinating in Italian dressing all day, and I'll turn on my stove. I'll also turn on my iPod (Alex will love that, too) where I've placed a relaxing mix of Colbie Caillat, Francesca Battistelli, Maroon 5, and John Mayer. They'll sing me onto Cloud 9, if I wasn't there already. I'm absolutely sure of it.
I'll water the lillies and daisies that I've placed in eccentric glasses-which I also found that morning. I'll light a few candles, open up the windows, and enjoy every bite of what I think is Top Chef material. Obviously, I'll have a peice of light, fluffy, smooth chocolate cake afterwards. I mean, you don't give a mouse a cookie without giving him a glass of milk...
I will have spent an entire day without a worry or a care. I will have relaxed and rejuvenated and spent some time for me. And I will have done some of my most favorite things in one day. I will have slowed down and remembered to enjoy my life, and I will have reflected on all the wonderful days I've had before and the days that are yet to come.
Whether I live this moment on Earth or request a similar setting in Heaven, I will hold onto this dream just for me. I will paint pictures with it, draw some ideas, and write it all down.
And so you see, I do, in fact, have a dream.
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