A huge old rambling house. And when I say huge and old, it is both beyond anything you can imagine. The house appears to grow and shift moment by moment. (I have no doubt this image comes from the heavy ingestion of Stephen King novels and movies over the last 25 years.) Unlike a house from an SK book, though, this house is in no way evil. It eminates warmth, welcome, and sanctuary. It seems older than the ages. Mishy, Brandy, and I, (along with 2 or 3 other women I either don't know or can't remember) are busy picking out our bedrooms. Each bedroom is done in a different motif (even architecturally)from ages past. One is reminiscent of a Greek portico, one a Roman atrium, one a Victorian boudoir, etc. And each has it's own large attached bath, done in the same style as the bedroom. The grounds around the house go on forever and are dotted with a multitude of "secret" gardens and forests. Mishy picks the bedroom closest to the front of the house. (Don't know what significance this has, but I know it was important in the dream.) The other women pick theirs, and I pick mine. Brandy wanders to the very back of the house, which is crumbling and decayed. Even in this state, there is nothing ominous about the house. It's inviting, comforting..."home" in every sense of the word. Brandy, being Brandy, picks a room in this dilapidated section of the house. I am trying to talk her out of it (there are even sections of the roof and walls missing, the tiles in the bathroom are 1/2 missing and none of the plumbing works) and calling the other women to help me.
This is when I woke up. Have no idea what this dream means (if anything) but I know I awoke from it smiling, happy, and content. Until I realized it was just a dream.