dreams

lulu in the background and my little buddha, Oliver

both somewhat oblivious to the sadness that lurks around this empty feeling house. The mornings, of course are the worst. I wake up still living in some other reality for those first few seconds, seconds which seem like minutes. That other world where everything is, as I want it. My long dead, adored grandmother smiles at me over tea, the scenery is bright and vivid and often exotic, my beautiful golden Emma races through pastures, and I feel weightless with ease. I wake up, and realize far too suddenly how it really is. I snuggle back down under the blankets wishing myself back to that place, back to sleep and then when I finally surrender to consciousness I try to bask in the warmth of those feelings and I cling to every memory and detail.

I still have yet to (consciously) dream about Jake. I used to dream about him often. A repetitive, reoccurring kind of dream where I was always losing him. A bad dream. Losing him, in any variety of locations. I guess I always worried more about him, partly because I did love him more and partly because he was so carefree and careless, he needed someone to watch out for him. If he got wind of an odour that tickled his fancy or had just a passing notion - off he'd go in a blinding gallop.

I remember many dreams of racing down narrow cobblestone streets in far away places like Copenhagen or Oslo, Winnie Dixon and Emma Jane racing along beside me, the three of us like some kind of Mod Squad catch that dog please and then always, just ahead, we'd spy a glimpse of a bushy red tail just disappearing around a corner and down an alley and off we'd go, the three of us, in hot pursuit.

Entire nights (or so it seemed) would be spent on this elusive chase, and then I'd wake up and he'd be right there, lying beside me, and my racing heart would slow down, I'd sigh with relief and I'd feel the weight of the world gently lift.
I love you Noodle.