Dreams. I Have Dreams.

I have not driven with the windows down in I can't remember how long.  Just to drive.  The windows are loud when  rolled down  (is it wrong to say "rolled".  We don't really roll windows down.  We push a button to make them go down, but windows pushed down sounds so odd.  For the sake of this entry, I will say rolled but I am open to more up-to-date suggestions) and I can't talk on the phone.  It blows the hair in my face and when I arrive for appointments I look like I have just rolled out of bed.  Or I resemble Gary Busey.  Not the look you want when going to homes to discuss the welfare of children.
I have recently fallen in love with driving with the windows down. I love driving to the country each weekend. Everyone in my new rural community drives with the windows down.  Or in the back of trucks.  Or on tractors.  Or they are parked on the side of the road in RV's.  Whatever.  Stopping at lights and exchanging pleasantries with others who do not care that I look like Gary.  We do not have the isolation of the glass and it has opened up a whole new world for me. Small talk ( nice day, good weather, how ya doin'?) waiting for the light to turn green. 
I love watching a storm come in over a lake.  The smell.  The slow, melodic ping of rain on the metal roof.  The rhythm gaining momentum as the rain sweeps past.  Sitting on the porch.  Making time a friend instead of being a servant.
I laugh as I watch my kids inquire about ice trays.  Really?  Smiling as they try and crack them, refill them and place them back in the freezer-spilling most of the water on the linoleum (yeah. I said linoleum.  The kind you can stick down one square at a time.  That is how we roll).  Ice doesn't just come out of the door of the refrigerator. Believe it or not.
Neighbors wave and do nice things just because you live close.  The kids have gotten in the habit of waving to everyone.  They don't get the same reception here as they do at the cabin.  People are slow to wave.  Suspicious of what they might be communicating. What is that foreign hand signal?  Ben was waving to everyone as we walked through the parking lot going into Kroger.  Amazing how many ignored him.  Roll down the windows.  We are driving to the country.
The cabin does provide more complications.  More responsibility.  More bills.  But at the end of the day when the boat is docked, the fire is smoldering, the kids are dirty and sticky and the cabin is bursting with people...dreams are realized.
Dreams realized in the form of a small, simple cabin at the lake.  A cabin were family and friends come and pile in bunk beds, tents, air mattresses and couches just to be together.  Kids do not take a bath unless it is in the lake. Stars shine bright.  Dreams are realized.  Playing marbles instead of Wii.  Okay.  Still working on the joy of marbles compared to Wii, but I am hopeful.  People washing and drying dishes together.  Or stacking them high enough to be dangerous.  Hearing a car approach from a quarter of a mile away on a gravel road.  Dreams are realized.  Watching an owl hunt at night.  The hum of window units and box fans.  Dreams are realized.  Breathing.  Dreams are realized.  Being.  Creating space to be.  Recognizing.  Grateful...