Two simple words that evoke very powerful emotions.
Home is a ‘charged’ word.
It’s as strong as one of those electromagnets they use to lift cars.
It pulls at something in my very core.
I feel home on a deep almost subliminal level.
Dream is a paradox of vivid reality and ethereal fragility.
Dream embodies my most earnest desires for wholeness and perfection in relationships and surroundings.
Add “dream” to “home” and the complexity of association goes from zero to sixty in a nanosecond.
I love Design and I love building houses, but a DREAM HOME is so much more than bricks and mortar.
So much more than inches and square footage.
My Dream Home is a place I share with those I love and that love me.
We’ve got each others’ back and we show it in ways large and small—like turning on the porch light if someone’s out after dark.
One of the oldest human needs is having someone wonder where you are
when you don’t come home at night.
We hang out with each other.
We cook the things we like to eat.
We make a place for all the ‘stuff’ we find useful and fun to have.
I dream of a wonderful garden that envelops my Dream Home in lush natural beauty and fragrances.
The plantings anchor the house to the earth.
They soften its hard surfaces and draw my eyes to the world beyond its walls.
Roses and lavender mix with dark green hedges that guide me to my own front door.
And next-door I want neighbors who’ll loan me sugar and butter.
People who play with their kids, or grandkids, and walk their dogs.
People who like to talk and laugh and definitely like to barbecue.
People who take care of their yard.
Dream Home can conjure up for me an image of returning to the land and a life filled with the simplicity of plain old hard work. You know, a place where John Deere is as ‘corporate’ as it ever gets. Your co-worker is a Yellow Lab and you lunch at the same table where you eat breakfast and dinner every day. The compensation plan sucks, but the perks are freedom from a manager, corporate bureaucracy, and a commute of more than 5 minutes.
City Dream Home doesn’t have the right ring.
I love the ocean, but Coastal’s not quite my thing.
Perhaps neighbor to Clooney in a Villa on the Lake?
Or a ‘Boat House’ in Newport where I’ll walk dogs and bake.
The home of my dreams is where loved ones are near
We’re all just ourselves and it’s laughter you hear
It’s dinner you smell when you come through the door
It’s tail wagging dogs flopped down on the floor
Stop by for a minute
Stay for an hour
Have you already eaten?
Oh, you just came for flour
Goodbye, come again
for wherever you roam
The dream we all dream
is a dream called home