I think it is safe to say that I am a dreamer. More like dreaming in my sleep than being a daydreamer, although I do have a plan for when I win the lottery.
Throughout the years, I have had constant dreams about different subjects. After becoming an adult (whenever that was), I dreamed about the old days as a high school athlete. I had to quit sports my junior year for medical reasons, so I never fulfilled my athletic achievements. Hence, I became a sports writer. Naturally in these dreams, even at an advanced age, I dominate.
Since my wife, Teresa, passed away in January, I have been flooded with dreams of her. Some good, some bad. In the good dreams, Teresa is always able to walk again, which makes me feel good when I wake up. I guess it's all about searching for a sign that she is going to be okay.
Throughout the years that I have been with Teresa, I always told her about some of the more bizarre dreams that I had encountered. One of her favorites was one that has me going back to my hometown (Hot Springs, S.D.). In these dreams, I walk the main drag. I usually start around Norm's Pool Hall and end up at either Donnell's store, the Evans Hotel or even the Evans Plunge.
All this time there is a party going on, like a class reunion or a city celebration. Regardless, I would tell Teresa and she always got a kick out of it.
While spending a few days at my mom's place in Hot Springs this past week, I told her about those dreams and that I wanted to actually walk the streets, just like my dreams. So I planned it for Friday afternoon. It was going to be nice weather and I needed the exercise, so why not?
Sure enough, I dreamed about walking the streets early Friday morning before I woke up. At about 2 o'clock, I said to Mom, "Well, it's time for my walk." I drove down to the Wells Fargo Bank parking lot and off I went, crossing the street and heading west.
I stopped at about every storefront window that had something interesting to see. Some did, some didn't, some buildings were vacant. I would estimate that 80 percent of the businesses were not the same as when I was a kid. That didn't really matter. I remembered what they were.
I ended up at the old railroad depot that now is being used as the Chamber of Commerce building. There I crossed the street and headed to Kidney Springs and walked up the new path to Centennial Park across from the United Churches. I crossed Fall River on the bridge and then crossed the street again to where I once was. I decided to go up a few blocks to my grandmother's old house (that she sold in the mid 1970s) on 5th Street.
Along the way, I walked the last part of the route that we often took as kids. Passing house after house, it would remind me of the old days. Some of the houses and the people who lived there, I remembered; some not quite as much. Likely, the same people that lived there then are gone one way or another. I did talk to one lady on 5th Street and she remembered my grandmother. That was nice.
As my walk was now ending, I so wanted to call Teresa to tell her that I had finally "walked Hot Springs." Of course, I couldn't. At the same time, I had the feeling that she "walked Hot Springs" with me.
I then decided to continue my tour of Hot Springs in my car and drove through my old neighborhood on College Hill. Once upon a time, on our way to school, we would jump the hedge that separated property. Now there's no way. Our former house has been remodeled and built on since we sold it in 1974. The basketball pole and basket that my dad put up for me has been moved to the garage. I wonder if some of the neighbors yell out to "give it a rest and go to bed" as one certain neighbor did to me when I was constantly bouncing the basketball at 11 p.m. on hot summer nights.
Lincoln Avenue and the adjoining neighborhoods have a familiarity to it, but they are not the same. I'm guessing that just a few families from the "old days" still live there.
Driving by the schools, I saw only a slight resemblance of what they looked like when I was a model student (in my own mind). Slowly driving the streets that on my bicycle took me to baseball practice, to a friend's house or even downtown, I couldn't help but think that, "Mom, I need a ride?" had never been spoken much in my house. Mom might remember differently, but I don't. In the day, you walked or rode your bike.
I'm not sure what I really expected. After all, it's been about 30 years since I last lived in the Hot Springs area (almost 38 years since I actually lived in town). There was no party atmosphere like in my dreams; it was a relatively quiet afternoon. Other than the one lady I talked to, I basically knew no one along the route.
Yet, for a couple of hours, I was home again.
No comments:
Post a Comment