Sunday Morning's Dream

You have to understand that I don't normally remember my dreams. So, when I do, it seems worthy of note. Doesn't necessarily the dream is important — or that the forgotten ones are unimportant. When I do remember a dream though, I do try to honor it by turning it over and examining it and so on.

The house I entered was generic. That is, it was not a house I immediately recognized from my past. I habitually turned on the tv, then went to the kitchen and put a tv dinner in the microwave.

Went back to the living area to watch tv while the meal heated. The buzzer went off, so I returned to the kitchen to manually rotate the dinner. This means the dream microwave was older than my current real-life microwave (which has its own turntable).

The microwave was broken in some fashion - not clear how. Seems like the window on the front was broken or had a whole in it. I thought it would still work for part two of the zapping.

Then I noticed the phone on the kitchen wall. The place and style of the phone (Princess Slimline) meant I was back in the house I knew as home from 5th grade until I went to college.

A voice was coming from the phone, even though the receiver was still on the hook. Somehow, I knew this was some sort of voice mail. It was my ex-wife, Mary, saying she was stranded.

The exact location was garbled or indistinct, so I went to the bedroom to check the answering machine. As was typical of Mary (in real life), she left a lot of messages. I was quickly skimming them to get to the information I needed to pick her up.

As I was checking the messages, Padre came home. I immediately went to him so I could show him what happened to the microwave. Only now, instead of just a broken window in the front of the machine, the damage is much worse. A tree has crashed through the wall and microwave both.

I asked Padre to deal with that issue while I went to retrieve Mary. That's the point when I woke up.

I was very disoriented when I did wake up; I briefly thought it was Monday (rather than Sunday), that I had over-slept, and would be late to work. It took a few moments to shake that off, and fully enter my Sunday routine.

I did not see myself in the dream. I felt like my current-day self, rather than teenager or husband. But I don't think I was divorced in the dream, either. I certainly felt some responsibility to help Mary.

The house, as often happens in dreams, was an amalgram of my teenage home and the house Mary and I rented during our marriage.

I could generate some superficial, facile interpretations of the dream. For the moment though, I want to let it percolate. Perhaps you, who know me primarily through these pages, might have some insight?