Friday, August 7, 2009
TinnieGirl is hosting a celebratory giveaway* and the only catch is that to enter, you need to leave a comment describing your dream. There I am, with the comment thingy up and ready to go (and there is a really nice birdy stencilled painting on offer) and at that point TinnieGirl marches me into the Room of Mirrors. Do I even have a dream? I used to have a dream. Fifteen years ago I was plotting to overtake the graphic design omniverse. Somewhere along the way, I stopped glamourising all-nighters and delegation and administration and started making decisions based on my response to: “will I regret this when I’m sixty?”. Back then, sixty seemed old. For reasons of necessity I’ve nudged that up to ninety, but the theory remains the same.
I don’t have any dreams for big, tangible things. Should I have? I have lots of hopes. Stuff like kids growing up to be resilient adults, comfortable in their own skins. Oh, and for the Mr and I to eventually find more time for the ‘us’ and to not go out for dinner to a lonely fish and chippery along the beautiful St Ives coast in England to eat chips and mushy peas** with sauce in squirty packets at a wobbly formica table while staring blandly over each other’s shoulders and not speaking once – like the seventy-ish couple I saw in the summer of 2001. I hope that even when the Mr and I are that creaky, we opt for the takeaway version and bury our feet in the sand – even it it does mean fending off the feistiest gulls south of the Arctic while arguing over whose turn it is for the crispiest bit of fish.
I don’t seem to spend any dreaming or even waking moments visualising the perfect house on top of a mountain (although I love a nice spot of architecture perched on a hilly bit) and I don’t seem to lust after great fortunes (although I don’t wish to nervously count my pennies or not go to the latest Amitié sale*** if I desperately need a something for an as yet unidentified project). It may well be that I’m a bit busy with the now. Or it could be that I don’t spend enough time gazing up at the sky pondering which direction I could fly.
* You have until Sunday, Cinderella time
** The Mr says, for the record, that he misses mushy peas
*** On now, today, even as I type – until 8pm