Kristina told me a dream she had last night.

She and Chaz were working in the garage, and it looked pretty good, clean, secure.

Mother was sitting halfway up the stairway to the second floor. She was still alive, looking younger and healthy.

She said, “Maybe I should just go live in the garage.”

Kristina said, “No. Why would you say that?”

Mother said, “I can’t manage the stairs.”

Kristina said, “But not the garage.”

Mother repeated, “I can’t manage the stairs.”

This time I was not in the dream. Kristina thought I might be in my study, my office, downstairs.

She considered how cleaning out some of the bookshelves in my study would make room for a big bed for me and Shirley to live downstairs in the house.

Kristina wasn’t sure if it was a good dream, but decided that it was.

Shirley was still alive and looking younger.

I said, “Isn’t it wonderful how we can control our dreams sometimes to make them go the way we want?”

I have dreams too. I wish I had been in that one.

I said, “Thanks for telling me.”