Assigned Dreams and Chateauroux Streets

 Friday, May 2, 2025

Assigned Dreams and Chateauroux Streets

"Your dreams didn't choose you by accident.  They were assigned to you." - Morning quote 

A few mornings ago I woke up from a dream that felt like a message. 

I was walking alone down the streets of Chateauroux, that special place where memories still cling like the scent of warm bread.  I saw a woman I knew - kind, gracious, the kind who makes strangers feel like family.  She welcomed me inside a tiny shop, owned by a friend.  A place full of delicate gifts and meaning. 

I thought of my brother's new baby, imagining a small outfit to carry love across the generations.  I bought red, white, and blue bracelets - symbols of home, of roots, of ideals.  Suddenly, I was thinking of Abigail Adams.  Of reason, of legacy, of a woman's quiet strength beneath the swirl of revolution.

And then, I asked myself:

Why should we give up all of this?

Why abandon beauty, connection, hospitality, thoughtful tradition?  Why silence the echo of dreams assigned to us long ago?

Sometimes, dreams are not whispers of escape but invitations to remember.  To carry the past forward with open hands.  To live our days as keepers of legacy, grace, and courage.

I dreamed I was back in Chateauroux, walking alone, but not lonely.  I recognized a woman who had welcomed Americans like me with warmth and ease.  She was stepping into a little boutique owned by a friend. She invited me in.

Inside, I was surrounded by small, lovely things - baby clothes, trinkets, bracelets in red, white, and blue.  I picked them up, one by one, like symbols from a story I was trying to remember.

I thought of my brother's new baby. Then I thought of Abigail Adams. Then I thought: Why should we give up all of this?

The dream was layered - present, past, and founding myth.  It was as if the baby, the bracelets, and Abigail Adams were all part of the same thread: the dream of what America could be. Kind, generous, principled. Not perfect, but guided by conscience and care.

In waking life, I often wonder how to carry my love for France, my hope for America, my memories, my values, my need for beauty and meaning - all at once.

Maybe this dream was my answer. Not to give any of it up. To carry it forward with reverence.

Still curious. Still growing. Still grateful.

Janis