When I was little there was a view of a large blue house across an acre-sized field that we could see the back of from our own front windows. It was an old grand victorian--probably one of those that people bought all the supplies and blueprints for in a Sears and Roebuck Catalog from 1899. In the wintertime, that ornate old place looked positively ethereal. After the snow fell and the clouds had cleared and there was a full moon, everything reflected blue and white and grey. Because of the moon and colors, the house itself looked like it was glowing a bit. The field sparkled as did the icicles hanging from the neighbor's roof. Occassional deer would wander through the scene, looking for food. I remember standing in our dining room, staring at that old blue place -- yearning.
Another time we were driving home from Cedarville. We had just put on an MPAT Christmas performance. As we drove through the mountains, the uncontaminated snow silently waited on pine trees. Shadows played games with boulders partially hiding under drifts, and stars shimmered. I was with my friends, the car was warm. I was happy.
I inwardly dwell in winter. Sometimes, when I am feeling sad or anxious, thoughts of those scenes pop into my brain. Pine trees and moonbeams, twiggy leafless branches and stars call to me. I think I love Southern California for living life, but I think I love the mountains for dreams. I picture myself living in a house full of brass and bronze, tarnished silver and mahagony -- Christmas trees as tall as my 14-foot crown-moulded tin-embellished ceilings will allow -- wearing kid-gloves and capes and dresses with trains (and not having it be just "dressing up"). Candles and lanterns instead of flourescent bulbs. Violin Music. Burgundy-reds and forest greens. Our neighbors are at least 1/2 a mile away and the only thing you can see is occasional slices of stars through the giant fir trees surrounding our house.
But I want it the way I want it, though. The winter can't be cold. There must always be a fire to keep us warm. Aunica will love wearing dresses (she doesn't right now). And Greg will always be home.
My mental heaven.