Memoir
/ˈmemˌwär/ noun. a record of events written by a person having intimate knowledge of them and based on personal observation. Usually memoirs. an account of one's personal life and experiences; autobiography. the published record of the proceedings of a group or organization, as of a learned society.
Dreams can be terrifying, mysterious – they can fill us with dread, joy, contentment, and even wonder. Do you have recurring dreams? I certainly do. I feel like these dreams we have again and again hold a special message that’s up to us to decipher and benefit from. I’m excited to hear what yours might be and I’m sure those who read your memoir in the decades and centuries to come will be equally captivated.
Memoir Monday has grown so much that I won’t be able to comment on everyone’s posts anymore (and get my own work done) but I’ll still be supporting your posts with reblogs, votes, and shares on my other social media accounts (X, Facebook, etc.).
For all of those who’ve regularly participated in Memoir Monday - keep going, you’re making great progress in chronicling your very own life story for future generations to enjoy.
For those who missed the inaugural post explaining what the Memoir Monday initiative is all about you can find it here.
Now for next week’s Memoir Monday prompt:
Have you ever had recurring dreams? If so, describe them.
My answer:
I’ve had three recurring dreams throughout my life, each set in a world that feels like the past. These dreams are intensely vivid, filled with sights, scents, sounds, and emotions that linger long after I awake. They’ve always made me wonder if these memories could somehow be ancestral or genetic.
The "Country Fair Dream"
In this recurring dream, I find myself strolling through a grassy field, wearing a linen suit and a straw hat, amidst a colorful array of tents. The smell of fried foods wafts through the air, blending with the lively sounds of the fair—children’s laughter, the clink of coins, and cheerful music. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow over the scene. I feel a sense of joy and contentment, as though the year is the mid-to-late 1800s. I’m holding an ice cream cone and enjoying the evening with a date. The atmosphere is peaceful, and I feel at ease, perfectly happy and free from worry. It’s an experience full of nostalgia, bringing me immense joy.
The "Ballroom Dream"
The second, my "Ballroom Dream," is the strangest. It transports me to an opulent ballroom aglow with candlelight. Guests around me are dressed in lavish attire, some wearing powdered white wigs. Through open windows, the soft night breeze stirs the drapes, adding to the ethereal atmosphere. A hauntingly beautiful minuet plays from a string quartet, and I find myself dancing with a striking woman across the gleaming wooden floor, amidst the heady scent of perfume. What’s remarkable is that in the early '90s, I received a CD as a Christmas gift, and one of the pieces on it, Haydn’s String Quartet in F Major, Op. 3/5 "Serenade Quartet," was the exact song from my dream! My head spun when I heard it, it instantly transported me back—like déjà vu—leaving me with a peculiar sense of melancholy, yet also immense comfort and security. I’m uncertain of the time period, but it seems as though this setting could be from the late 1700s, though it may just be some sort of costume ball from a later era.
The "Tobacco Shop Dream"
The final dream is brief but striking. I’m walking down a gloomy city street, past horses and buggies. I glance down to see I’m wearing navy pinstriped trousers and polished black shoes, holding a black cane with a silver handle. I descend a flight of stairs into a subterranean tobacco shop, where the earthy, rich scent of pipe and cigar tobacco fills the air. The shopkeeper immediately recognizes me, respectfully greets me, and hands me three cigars and I tuck them into the inside pocket of my jacket. I hand him a large silver coin, receiving no change. My demeanor is not warm—I’m detached, almost dismissive. The dream ends before I leave, and it feels like a part of my routine, lacking the joy of the other two dreams. There’s no hint of happiness in this one, only the feeling of a mundane, habitual moment with a lingering sense of regret.
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