Squarebear
Lee Trundle
- Joined
- Jul 9, 2020
- Messages
- 1,584
- Reaction score
- 29
I just need to write this down. No agenda.
I dreamed about my dad last night.
Our family garden bore a peculiar resemblance to the enormous playing fields at the school I started at a few months after his death in 1974.
In my dream our massive lawn - the size of several rugby pitches - had large patches of concrete the previous owner had poured on in a misguided effort to combat the boggy ground (every match I ever played in at that school involved yomping around in standing water, so this bit of my dream had a tinge of plausibility).
I was an adult in my dream and wanted to clear the concrete, add drainage, reseed and cultivate. But the best news was that my dad appeared to have survived the heart attack that robbed me of him all those years ago. Here he was, larger than life, looking slim and well.
Dad, who had actually worked in agriculture in real life, persuaded me my concrete-removal plans were over-ambitious. As we were kicking off our wellies I called him "dad", and felt a wave of emotion at having him back with me. We hugged and cried. It was wonderful.
Then I woke up.
Now of course I've got to try and interpret this bloody dream. It seems gardens represent growth, concrete patches are barriers to growth. I'll let you know how it goes
.
I dreamed about my dad last night.
Our family garden bore a peculiar resemblance to the enormous playing fields at the school I started at a few months after his death in 1974.
In my dream our massive lawn - the size of several rugby pitches - had large patches of concrete the previous owner had poured on in a misguided effort to combat the boggy ground (every match I ever played in at that school involved yomping around in standing water, so this bit of my dream had a tinge of plausibility).
I was an adult in my dream and wanted to clear the concrete, add drainage, reseed and cultivate. But the best news was that my dad appeared to have survived the heart attack that robbed me of him all those years ago. Here he was, larger than life, looking slim and well.
Dad, who had actually worked in agriculture in real life, persuaded me my concrete-removal plans were over-ambitious. As we were kicking off our wellies I called him "dad", and felt a wave of emotion at having him back with me. We hugged and cried. It was wonderful.
Then I woke up.
Now of course I've got to try and interpret this bloody dream. It seems gardens represent growth, concrete patches are barriers to growth. I'll let you know how it goes
.
