Morning of September 1, 2013. Sunday.

This recent dream was rather short and somewhat distorted in mood, so I will only include the more distinct details here.

My family and I go out for a walk, partly to take a look at a supposed “mystery” home relating to a special house of some kind - maybe even a place we will actually live or own. It actually turns out to be on King Street in La Crosse (even though my family here has never been to America) the third (fictional) house from my corner. My actual apartment house is on the corner but that is not the main focus, and every other house and structure is completely different from real life along the entire street (both sides).

East of is a cul-de-sac that is like some sort of open squarish U-shaped kitchen or storage area, the “ends” pointing west. Near the last part of my dream we walk around through it from north to south and I note that I had moved a refrigerator earlier and maybe blocked part of the path on the northwest where people go in from, but no drama ensues even though I notice others (one, an alcoholic) just coming into that side. (The alcoholic is someone I sort of knew in real life on the job years ago but who was not a close friend.)

Earlier in my dream, there is a rather unusual mood. I am not sure about the dynamics of the house or what makes it mysterious. It is some sort of mystery like no other mystery, even in a personal sense. I have had numerous dreams throughout life of odd houses here and there, where piles of old wood take up much of the inside (especially in seemingly very old, long-abandoned two-storey houses whereby someone still seems to live there at times), or with other unusual aspects. This almost seems to be one of those types of dreams, but the house of mystery turns out to be more like a modern low-set brick or concrete home, rather small, reminding me vaguely of my home in Cubitis. We notice piles of rubbish everywhere, in smaller bags, even near the family’s car. It seems perhaps they are moving.

I notice that the license plate on the rear of the car (1970s cream-colored station wagon with simulated wooden panels on the side - a brother-in-law owned one similar to this, but not the same) reads “COCINA 53”, which means kitchen (Spanish) and may relate to my age in a few months. About twenty-five percent of the car is out from the low, attached garage (on the eastern side of the home), facing to the south.

Later, my mother (who died October 2, 2002 at age 86) is with us. We are looking into a large dumpster on the southern part of the street for potential “treasures” as “scavengers”, maybe to find something to sell. The entire bottom of the dumpster (aside from a few randomly-sized empty cardboard boxes) is filled with still unopened and unused plastic packages of a series of recipe booklets, arranged in newer-looking cardboard boxes (as if never distributed from the company), that sell for about ten to twenty dollars or so per week via one of those real-life subscription services - which end up costing thousands of dollars for a recipe book’s worth of material (the same being true of those animal fact sheets and such which also end up costing thousands of dollars by the time the collection is complete - or about $3,600.00 for a three-year collection/subscription, and parts often go missing or there is duplication or printing problems).

I had discovered I had been carrying a bag full of recipes and was going to give them to my mother, but she said she was not interested in any of the set, as there might be printing errors and missing sleeves or booklets or such, so I throw the bag in with the rest. It may be that most of the booklets are all identical or just from one or two weeks of publication. We then move on to the cul-de-sac event mentioned earlier.

Relative to the unusual fictional setting, see also the following dreams (link under entry):

Hall Kitchens?

Submarine

UPDATE: This turned out to have the usual visually precognitive elements (regarding a movie we saw later - by chance), but nothing important in my opinion. It mostly related to the parked car of a make I haven’t seen very often.