this morning was one of those magical mornings where sleep wraps its arms in a bear hug around you. where the toastiness of the blanket fort wrapped all about you smothers you in sweet comfort but for the tickled chill on your nose that comes from the wee breeze dancing through the window. it's the kind of morning where the sun gently nudges you awake but your dreams are not yet ready to surrender so you sink back down into a beautiful slumber. even mr. a-go-go found himself dosed with the pixie dream dust or, rather imp dust as his slumber was less a lullaby than mine.
like most dream filled nights, the dreams they flit away once my lashes part to greet the new day. what i can recall is not so sweet my teeth hurt but is comforting and confusing as only a dream can be. at one point i found myself pushing the worn plastic button to call the wonky elevator that lived in the orange stucco box i called home. my strongest memories involve the look, feel, scent and touch of this elevator as i rode it perhaps at least once every day for twelve years of my childhood. in this dream, i stepped in to find it different,more plain, yet i grasp the handle in preparation for the maniacal dream ride that usually ensues. in reality the elevator simply moved up and down with a very distinct song for each inch of the way. i knew its song by heart and could close my eyes once i stepped in, timing them to open with the doors in perfect choreography. but in dreamland, this elevator not only moved up and down but it roll, roll, rolled around and around at the same time causing me to bounce from one edge to the other aching for the doors to open to end the unwanted carnival ride. i am not sure why this is the case but it is. it is a recurring elevator dream of a twisted dance that causes much anxiety in my sleep. no wonder i am wary to step in this time but i do and all proceeds without incident. soon enough i am on the third floor and skipping the skip i did all those many many years ago. the front door opens to the hall i know so well and i hear laughter coming from the living room. stepping through the door as if this were the most ordinary thing, i am welcomed and hugged and greeted by my mother and brother who are in high spirits for there are homemade peanut butter bars to taste and my mother just returned from a lupus rally. with peanut buttery kisses still on my cheek i head to my room to rifle through the chiffarobe that once belonged to my sister in search of the vintage dresses i know are hiding inside. the room is pink like it was when i was eleven or so and while it doesn't really look like it did, it feels the same and i think how good it is to be back home.
and that is all i remember. nothing much yet every good thing for my mother was in my dream, my mother! and i did not do what i usually do when i dream of my mother, i did not remind her that she cannot possibly be in my dream as she is dead (i really do this), instead, i throw myself onto the sofa book ended between two people i love allowing the moment to dance through me, to lift me up and twirl me to the morning that has me sitting here, sharing with you this almost-magical moment while i eat the sweetest red grapes i have ever had instead of wrapping up an article that is due later today.