Dreaming of Home Essay -- Personal Narrative Descriptive Dreams Essays

Dreaming of HomeEveryday, afterwards waking up, I realized that I had been dreaming about alkali again. I lay staring at the ceiling for a spot or two. Then, dragging myself from the bed, I walked to the window and threw open(a) the curtains. The wide open space of the New Mexico high desert stared fanny blankly at me. The cobalt blue skies, p all(prenominal) colored Sandia Mountains and endless waves of sagebrush and retem stood in stark contrast to my dreamscape. For the past eight years, my first weigh of the day was this star. But today was different. Today, I was going home.I grew up in capital of Ireland in the 1970s. To understand how that shaped the person I am today, you have to understand something about Ireland at that time. It has been said by someone a lot to a greater extent insightful, and perhaps more cynical than me, that the 1960s didnt reach Ireland until about 1975. So I grew up in a time of great change, w here(predicate) the old social norms were being ch allenged and dribble aside. Of course, in my growing years, I didnt always understand this. I viewed Dublin through the eyes of a child. I led a more or less sheltered existence, the eldest of seven children. My parents were country people and had moved here after the birth of my first sibling, Paul. My father worked in the construction intentness and construction jobs were much more plentiful here than in the backwaters of Wicklow where he was born and bred. My mother was from the West, born in County Clare and was the daughter of a provoke laborer. Her father, Patrick Murray, had moved where the work was too, and had ended up settling and eventually past(a) in Wicklow. This was where my parents met and where I had come into being. Our days in Dublin were regularly punctuated by trips to the country to visit my gr... ... We were old friends and lovers, learning that what it was to k straightaway one another again and tentatively finding our way back into each others lives. I still love Dublin, but I realize now that I love it despite itself and not because of itself. I think, perhaps, that is how its always been.And a strange thing happened.I awoke one morning to find myself back in my bedroom, back in New Mexico. My wife lay sleeping beside me, lost in her own dreams. The house was quiet. I walked once more to the window and opened those curtains. The room was immediately filled with warm, brilliant sunlight. The cast out was that same fantastic shade of blue and the Sandia Mountains glistened as ever in the early morning light. I gazed out across the waves of sagebrush and retem and realized I had not dreamed of home. Looking back to where my wife lay sleeping, I realized I was home.