September Fourteenth; Hey Hon, How Have You Been?

I liked yesterday’s mail.


Living on a dead end, one lane dirt road has its advantages. One is that I can hear the mail Jeep approaching, watch it go down and watch as it pulls out whether it stops at my mailbox or not. Yesterday it did. I only had one letter and was mildly confused at why I would be getting a letter from the small town near us until I opened the letter. Okay, I like this.

Many years ago, in fact, several years before my husband died, we received notice that the nearby town was doing some form of annexation of large areas around town. We were in part of that area. I’m not exactly sure what terminology was used at the time, sort of a ‘we may want full control of this at some point in the future so we’re placing a save me a seat sign over all of this’. We didn’t get any services such a trash pick up or sewer lines, they simply had regulatory control over development. Still a pain.

 The letter, states there will be a town meeting to discuss a resolution to relinquish a lot of that extended area they had a, save me spot, on. Which according to the map was a great deal, including us. Once and if, this resolution passes, everything goes back to county control. Taking us momentarily out from under the threat of having to pay city and county taxes. We haven’t had to so far due to them never fully taking that seat. I didn’t really think about it a lot afterwards, but maybe, that is part of what brought about the dream last night. Maybe not.

 I dreamed I was a passenger in a vehicle, a larger SUV not my Jeep. Possibly my old Explorer, but anyway… We were going to a gathering of some sort that involved food. A class or family reunion maybe. All I recall is that it was covered dish and you could not and apparently still cannot keep my husband away from those. Yes, the person driving the vehicle was my late husband.

We were driving along and I see a vehicle headed directly for us in our lane. I alerted my husband and we narrowly avoid an accident. We do stop and are approached by a very nice, very friendly black, lady police officer. We talk for a while, tell her where we’re going, and since there was no contact, were sent on our way. I remember her smile.


 We are on our way back, talking about the event that went well, it was late and getting dark. I then see another vehicle headed for us head on. This time no matter what evasive maneuver my husband tried he couldn’t avoid the accident, though it was minor. We manage to pull off the road onto a field. Going to check, the driver of the car was an older gentleman who was not hurt but disoriented. Our vehicle had a headlight mangled but not much other damage. Suddenly the same officer was there, smiling, talking, she had two people with her that were family. Her dad and daughter. We talked, explained what happened and that no one was injured. I asked if we needed to make a report and she said that yes, we did. As I was explaining to her, going over it all again carefully, I was awakened by Molly barking needing outside. It was as I closed the door after letting her outside that it dawned on me I had dreamed of my late husband.

Only the second maybe third time since he died four and a half years ago. It was an odd dream, I’m not sure if I was being warned to be careful or that what ever happened everything would be fine. Or that we had narrowly missed a disaster the town had tried to implement. 

Don’t get me wrong, I do love our small town. I also understand that to survive, growth is essential. I also understand that not biting off more than you can chew is important as well. I’m guessing that all those years ago, someone had envisioned growth greater than what occurred. They were seeing a grand future that never or at least to this point, has not happened. Someone current has decided to cut losses and run or there may be some other, unknown to me reason. I do want to see growth, but, over there. I like my quiet, country home. Yes, I do know how I sound.


I sound like what I witnessed a few moments ago. We have one strictly indoor cat by the name of Cricket. We currently have five not so stray cats out back. Two adults, three kittens. One adult will get up on the top step of my back porch and pick fights with Cricket through the storm door. Either by standing and clawing at the glass or trying to get under the door through a tiny gap. I’m like Cricket, hissing and clawing at the door, exclaiming, “Not in my house” not in my backyard.


Yes, I do know that the only constant thing about change, is that it happens. I know, that due to the population growth, towns spread, housing developments are built, privacy and quiet is lost. Hopefully for now, ours has been preserved.


 As for now though, I’m going to set all of that aside. I’m going to sit here, enjoy my coffee and the morning deepening into the day and bask in the memory and feeling of the dream. I have heard it said, that when you dream of the deceased, they have paid you a visit. I’m going to hold onto the feelings, the thoughts, the smile brought, by that visit. Wouldn’t you know, that his visit, would involve a meal?  I do miss him. This house, is so very quiet without his presence.

Church Homecoming many years ago.

About rebecca s revels

A writer, a photographer, a cancer survivor. An adventurer of the mild kind, a lover of the simple pleasures such as long walks and chocolate. A Christian unashamed of my faith and a friend who is dependable and will encourage readily. Author of three self published books with more waiting to find their way to paper. An advocate of good things, a fighter against wrongs.
This entry was posted in animals, Cats and Kittens, encouragement, family, inspiration, life's journey, memories, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to September Fourteenth; Hey Hon, How Have You Been?

  1. Webb Blogs says:

    My late husband passed many years ago but every now and then I will dream of him. It always leaves me feeling a certain way, hard to describe the feeling, maybe a little comforting.

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