wishing, and hoping, and thinking and praying

images found on the fabulous preservation north carolina web site.

robert and i talked for an hour as we walked along the country roads near our house. we waited until the sun was setting so the heat had a chance to cool and the wind picked up a bit. we talked about work, and about dreams. about the palatable, often indelible difference between the two. about working to make a living and simply living. and, as we tend to do when the stars start appearing and honeysuckle wafts in the air, we started dreaming. about owning a farm, and living off the land. about opening up a little diner, and, one of my favorites, bringing back the dying breed of drive-in movie theaters.

but we kept coming back to one idea.

a used book store with room to study. with long, old wooden tables and deep green library lamps. with low-sitting vintage sofas and a little coffee shop in the back. because it was our dream and therefore totally malleable, we envisioned a wing off the back where we could finally let pablo run off leash.

we pictured going to work together, and raising children among the shelves. bringing them with us and letting them sort and organize the titles. of little girls raised on laura ingalls wilder and boys on mark twain.

then, we reached mama and dad's house and just as quickly and arbitrarily as the dream began, it was over. replaced with pablo tugging on the leash and pulling us toward the front door. with chocolate ice cream cones and conversations on bar stools.

but it's still there. tucked away into some recess of my spirit that i may or may not tap into one day. in a shop not unlike the one above, an abandoned grocery store a few cities away from my own.

i may never reach the point where my work, home and dream life intersect perfectly and in succinct harmony. but i'm okay with that. because it's the reaching, the day-in/day-out good, clean living and prayers whispered at midnight that keep me hopeful. and if we never own that book store? life is still pretty dreamy, achingly so. right now, the dream looks like a sleepy dog wrapped up at my heels and the soothing hum of the shower. who knows what the dream looks like 10, 15, 20 years from now? only the good Lord, and that's enough to make this daydream believer happy.