Dreams...Part ?

I had just sold a house. I am walking through a two story victorian bequeathed to me through the passing of my grandfather. There are french doors off the library - that has no books. The french doors exit to a garden area where, if you were watching a Hollywood movie you would see a handler walking with two muzzled german pinschers. Obviously this would be a foreshadowing of a sticky security predicament. In this dream there are no security dogs. I can see through the ivy covered trellis like fence out on to the street and wonder about how safe this place really is. If it would be a concern to potential buyers. Bad things happen, even in good neighborhoods.

The day is an overcast and misty day. The sun is trying to burn off the mist to no avail. The dark clouds begin to take over the remaining light and I head back inside without particular urgency. Once inside, I am aware of a light on in a part of the house I had heard described as the servants dining area. It is attached to the kitchen. Traditionally there would have been a heavy wooden swinging door there as much to separate the noise of the kitchen as to mark the class of the people on either side. My grandfather had taken it down. He's never had servants. I had never known him to be more than a modest man so this home he lived in alone, surprised me. It is extravagant for a modest man. Two stories? That is so unlike him. It is very unlike me.

I hear the thunder and the crack of the lightening. I can tell the sky ouside has rained down in volumes unseen in a while.

I was thinking about selling this place. It was sort of just given to me with out much pretense. I am here to evaluate it and see if work needs to be done. As I move through these two rooms, I know that there is another floor above me and still many more rooms to see. The thought of selling it leaves my mind as I think about what it would take to maintain the lawn. I wonder if and where the tools to do so would have been left. I decide they were probably taken when the books were taken at the passing of my grandfather. I would have to invest in some more tools.

I hear dripping begin in the hallway or foyer, I am not sure which architectual descriptor to attach to the space. I choose to ignore it even though I know that more water will be coming through the ceiling. I should be finding pots and pans and whatever else might still be around to catch the water but I see the space in which I am standing was used most recently as a home office and is piled with clutter. Ignoring the bigger obvious problem, I start to sort and separate the clutter. Trying to throw out all things that are unnecessary, I scan each blank paper carefully so as to not miss something useful. Hours I am at this and making no headway. Either the room is getting larger or the clutter is multiplying like tribbles. Meanwhile, I look over to the hallway and I see the leaks need attention in a serious way. More water is coming through than before and I know if it continues it will cause structural damage that will be very costly to restore. For some reason I cannot let go of the clutter that is burying the room. Finally, I decide there is never going to be an end to the clutter and that it is not the more pressing need. As I step over unwritten letters and blank papers and junk and trash to get to the doorway of the kitchen, all I can think is, "fix your leaky house."