I had an amazing dream last night. I was in my usual rush trying to get out the door on a dark, cold work morning. I slipped on my trousers, then pulled on a blouse. Attached my work badge to my blazer as I slurped down coffee. It was drizzling rain. Would I need a slicker, I wondered.
A knock came, so I hurried to it and swung open the front door. Instead of darkness, light poured in. A hot summer sun beamed, children played in my front yard, sloshing about with water balloons, water hoses and pool noodles, cooling themselves.
A young mother wearing a bathing suit, sunglasses and flip flops stood at my doorstep and handed me her tall glass of iced tea that was sweating beads of moisture. I took the glass without question and watched her as she walked away to join the children.
Upon waking, I understood that that woman was me. And those were my children. It seems a forever ago, but that was once my life, when my babies and I started our day in bathing suits, checked our stash of Otter Pops, walked barefoot, planned for friends to join us at the pool, stopped for lunch of peanut butter and jelly squares and watermelon and then played outside again. That’s what our summer days were. When my children were young. When I thought my days were long and hard. When I dreamed of being professional one day.
I know I can’t go back. I don’t need to. It’s there in my dreams. And I am not going to complain that I should have appreciated it more. Because I did relish those moments as I experienced them. I must have, because my kids – now adults – share these same sweet memories. We lived it all together. And it can never be taken away.
So, for today, I will just remember and write. What memories will serve your writing today? Take a few moments and write them down for a little added inspiration.