Trees. Gardens. Animals and birds. Homes. Streets. People walking by. A mailbox. Leaves.
When you were small, what did you look for? Dragons. Unicorns. Knights. Aliens. Oceans. Forests. Magic.
When I was four or five I lived with my grandparents in a tiny two story house in a suburb of Topeka. Each room upstairs had a window that faced each point on the compass. My room faced North and I had a view of the garden and our neighbors roof. I played in the bedroom facing East, watching the sunrise, looking for friends to be in their backyards. I imagined the circus, castles, flying horses and tame bears.
My father remarried when I was seven and we moved to Wichita. We'd visit my grandparents for Christmas for several years after, but as we got older we went to visit less and less. The view out my bedroom window faced the neighbor's fence and I really didn't like them anyway.
When I graduated from high school I decided to go to KU and commute from my grandmother's house. My grandfather was in a nursing home, requiring more care than grandmother could give after a double amputation (his legs) due to complications from diabetes. She'd never learned to drive so I took her to visit him on days I wasn't in school.
I chose to sleep in the bedroom facing West this time around. It had been my aunt's room growing up and it always fascinated me. She was ten years older, so at five I followed her everywhere I was allowed to. Her room was off limits, unless she was there. I admired the china doll that sat on her bed, loved the smell of cedar coming from her closet, and danced to the portable record player she had. The sounds of the fifties filled the four years I lived there with them.
By my college years she was married with children of her own. The china doll and record player were gone. I'd look to the West and enjoy the sunsets and the view of the comings and goings of the neighborhood. I imagined stories of perfect Donna Reed marriages, women in pearls and men in suits, but many of them wore uniforms, repairing or driving trucks and old cars. On a clear day you could see the top of the capital building. That was where important rules were made to govern and protect us.
I only stayed with grandmother for a semester because I was madly in love and he lived in Wichita. At that time they charged by the minute for phone calls and I spent most of my stipend to cover those bills. We'd have long conversations about our dreams. I imagined magical times of joy and wonder. There's even a letter somewhere that I wrote him with a unicorn or flying horse on it. We married and had a beautiful son, and a busy life together.
My grandparents are gone. My parents are gone. And I'm pretty much a gray haired lady. I don't dream of unicorns and flying horses anymore. The view out my window reminds me what a nice neighborhood I live in, with dogs, children, and people of all ages. Suits and pearls are not longer required for work, so you seldom see them anymore, except maybe at the bank. My best friend still wears pearls and her husband wore suits every day to work until he retired.
What I see outside my window now is quiet living. Peacefulness. We keep our yards trimmed and visit over the fences or across yards. We wave and say hello. We watch out for each other. Everyone has their own dreams that we keep inside now. I dream of being healthy and seeing my family who has moved across the country to pursue their dreams.
Look out your window. What do you see?