Once again one of my dreams will be the topic of this week’s column. Sometimes I wonder what creates dreams or sparks the unconscious mind to produce said dream.
I dreamt I was driving to my parents’ house in Nara Visa. Now I have made this trip many times before. The route seldom changes and, well, the scenery changes with time but much is still the same.
Today if you drive in to Nara Visa, you will pass by the Port of Entry, the closed station, cafe and pass through the center of town which for lack of better words seems deserted.
Time has been hard on my hometown In its history it has been burned down twice and seen the trucking route moved from U.S. 54 to the I-40 corridor.
However, this is not a history lesson, so I will get back to my dream.
I was driving into town, as I have done many times before. Only this time, everything was as it was in the 80s.
The truck stop had a garage door painted in that horrible shade of gray. There were cars in the fuel isle and semis pumping diesel.
The cafe was open and people were sitting down to a meal. I saw my cousin, Donna Rivera working as the waitress. I saw my dad, Ralph Garcia through the kitchen pick-up window cooking with a smile.
I passed by my uncle’s and aunt’s house on the hill and the blue blazer was there along with my cousin’s Monte Carlo.
I turned by Ira’s Bar and the doors were open. Inside I could see people playing pool.
As I drove down the street I looked at Daisy’s house and I nearly wrecked as I say her watering her trees and she waived at me. She was a dear friend who passed away many years ago. I woke up after Daisy waived.
I am not sure what made me dream those wonderful memories, though I was happy to have remembered such a wonderful time in my life.
A friend of mine has been talking about reminiscing. When things are crazy we often think back to a time when things made sense. I too have been reminiscing, it seems, asleep as well as awake.
Sometimes I think back to those times when everything seemed so easy, when the hardest thing I had to deal with was getting more quarters to play the arcade games in the station.
I know I will never again experience the sensation of sitting in the front booth of my dad’s restaurant with my sister and mother as Dad cooked us Sunday dinner. However, I will always have the memory of how happy we were sitting there.
Who knows, one night I may dream of the Sunday dinner. Maybe I’ll have the chicken strips with cream gravy or maybe the roast beef and brown gravy. Decisions, decisions.