Woke up this morning all excited because last night was the first time since Steve died that I’ve dreamt about him. Not some mega fantastic meaningful dream with some deep message (well, maybe not) so this is what happened.
I’m in the front room of a wooden shack type house and the front wall isn’t there, it’s like a big verandah and immediately outside it’s like a BMX dirt track, all rolling mounds and hills and there’s Steve riding on his bike up and down and around. We say hello and talk to each other like nothing has happened and I’m really pleased to be able to talk to him again.
It’s time for lunch and I turn around and Chrissy and Broni are sat at the table with lunch all prepared so I go to sit down grabbing an extra plate for Steve on the way. Chrissy realises what I’m thinking immediately and says “Steve’s not really here, you know”.
I woke up then and thought about getting up and writing it all down but opted, in my laziness, to try and get some more dreams in, which I did but no more about Steve. It could mean something, it could mean nothing but it felt great just having a moving image of Steve in my mind again.
This was after an exhausting day yesterday which involved us going to the pool, which we found is only a quarter of a mile away, to practice that thing I’d vowed never to learn some years ago, thinking why would you need to know how to swim in England, not knowing then my future and heading towards such wild and pretty beaches and rivers and ocean in Australia.
So for an hour we swam up and down and under and round just having fun, getting our bodies slowly into shape, not some long haul 100 length job, god forbid, I can’t even manage one length in one go yet! But I will, just you wait. And maybe all that exercise jogged my subconscious that Steve used to play football and do some weight training and always looked incredibly strong. In fact I’ve got some lead for taking up indoor soccer (yes, it’s called soccer over here) which I may persue when I get a bit more stamina.