Mary and I closed on a vacation house on Cape Cod today. The current plan is to eventually make this our primary residence, but that will have to wait a few years. For now, it will be our getaway, our retreat.
The closing itself was casual and relaxed, almost anti-climactic. Lots of signatures, handshakes, smiles and sighs. It was very different from the dream I had only a few hours earlier.
In my dream, instead of a small table in the noisy lobby of the Barnstable County Registry of Deeds, we were in a big conference room in a sprawling office building. We had trouble finding the place, and we were late. Our agent was also late, as was the seller and her agent. None of this was the case in reality, but such was the pseudo-reality of my dream. The only people seated at the table in the conference room were strangers to me, and none of them paid any attention to me when I walked in all flustered.
I finally caught the eye of one sympathetic soul who confirmed that I was indeed in the right place. At that point I tried to text Mary.
Except that I didn’t have a phone. I had some sort of larger-than-necessary hand-held device with a keyboard that was really too awkward to be of much practical use. I quickly pinned a key on the keyboard, and in the process of trying to free it, all of the keys went flying in the air. That got everyone’s attention.
As if on cue, Mary came in, as did our agent. The seller came in with her agent moments later. My cell phone (apparently I did have one of those after all) rang with the same obnoxious ringtone it has in reality, silencing the room.
To break the ice, the man who was apparently my lawyer reached forward to shake my hand and introduce himself. Without a shred of irony, he complimented me for the classic Dilbert tie I was wearing.
Thankfully it was only a dream. Reality, as it turns out, is much better.