Moving

When I was barely eleven years old I had a dream that my parents were moving. 

It was the middle of sixth grade and I had lived in our house and gone to my school since I started kindergarten right after Thanksgiving in 1955. 

In the dream we moved across the street from an enormous church and just up the block from my Aunt Evelyn who collected elephants, loved anything purple and wasn't really my aunt, but a family friend

I told my mother about it at breakfast. My mother believed you should never tell anyone your dreams until after breakfast or they might come true. The next day my father came in and said he had found a house and we were moving to try and make ends meet. It was on the corner of Walnut St. in Springfield, Illinois and right across the street from a huge Presbyterian church. It was also in the same block that Aunt Evelyn lived.

Yesterday, in the middle of the day,  I had a very vivid dream that my mother, sister and I saw an apartment on that same street. We went inside and they sat in the living room while I walked through. I thought it would be a good apartment for walking because there wouldn't be loose dogs on such a busy street. It was rather large, but all on one floor and seemed like a great idea except there was an odd feeling that something was wrong and when I tried to talk about it with my mother and my sister I couldn't make the words come out. I was too tired. 

I actually looked up apartments for rent on that street when I woke up, but there was nothing available.