And I am daydreaming.
I am dreaming of a day when our house is finished. Stainless steel appliances sit in our new Tuscan-tiled kitchen. Super clean, blonde oak floors glide under my Kenneth Cole shoes as I enter our black lacquered dining room. I place a seven layer meatless lasagna on the Ikea dining room table. Hootie and the Blowfish are playing in the background. Wait. This isn't my daydream. I must of been channeling a depressed person living in a gated suburb community at 145th and Roe. Nope. Not my dream at all. Let me start again.
I am dreaming of a day when our house is finished. When I can step onto my seven inch plush burgundy rug runner,
and glide down my stairs to greet guests arriving for the Annual Republican Cotillion. Where my brass lamp fixtures illuminate the guests chapeaux and fur collars, and Winfred, our Butler/maid/servant-man serves port from a cut crystal decanter. Chopin is playing in the background. Wait. This isn't my daydream either. I must now be channeling a turn of the century depressed socialite. Nope. Not my dream at all. Let me try again.I am dreaming of a day when our house is finished. Where Jon and I can sit in our wing-backed chairs and read the New York Times. A finished house where the coffee is always going, and a wire fox terrier lays at our feet. A finished house where friends and family stop by for no good reason but to say, "Howdy, and here is a pumpkin pie I just baked for you." A finished house where a couple, married for a year, decorates for Halloween, with cobwebs, heirloom pumpkins, and black cats. Where a married couple eats a frozen wedding cake topper in a beat up kitchen. Where Kate Bush is singing in the background. Wait. This isn't a dream...this is my world.
I don't need a finished house to have a home. We have already planted the seeds. I just need to sit back, daydream, and watch it grow.-Ron (and Jon and Atticus)
