I’m still not satisfied though. Part of the appeal of the Northeast was finding perspectives and slices of life in one place, alongside each other, melding and complimenting each other. Now they’re scattered around like adopted stepchildren. It won’t be the same. Should I even care? Why does this bother me so much, I ask myself? Probably because with the exception of the library and a few local programs like the Nature Center and the local organic farm/art center, I haven’t felt as much community in Connecticut as I’ve felt other places I’ve lived. Everywhere I go,  even on vacation, I have to check out the local paper. And for seven years, this section of the paper has been my connection to the community I live in.

In this dream, which I’ve had five or six times in the last year, I am foraging around in my favorite store…a thrift shop. I’ve never really been to this particular thrift shop, in fact, it doesn’t really exist except in my dreams, but I recognize it instantly. It’s on a street in Northampton, where I used to live. It’s huge. I find lots of vintage clothes and various treasures. Never any books though. Odd. There is one section that I try to get to every single time, but I wake up before I get there.

What does this mean? Is this fictional thrift shop some idea of heaven, only I haven’t gotten there yet? Or is it life, and this room represents something important that I haven’t gotten to yet? Or….does it mean merely that I spend too much time slumming around in thrift shops and need an intervention?