Last night guests were visiting the octagonal house, and I wanted to show them some of the old games in one of the fourth-floor bedrooms. The games were the same games I played at my grandmother's house! The twin beds in that room have the same white chenille bedspreads that covered beds in homes from my past. As the children were playing, I went across to a door I never opened in our house (those lower levels being sufficient for our living needs). It was a grim, dark red room with a large master bed, and it felt uncomfortably strange to me. I left it quickly and awoke wondering.
In daylight, I wonder why that red room felt odd. I always try to link my dream life to things in reality. Could it have been the beautiful red of the strawberry rhubarb pie we baked yesterday? Probably not. Most likely, I have internalized Jane Eyre's feeling about the room where Uncle Reed died at Gateshead Hall. My rereading of the novel is due to its inclusion in Gary Schmidt's Okay for Now. Though I have baked bread, walked around a lake, and attended a graduation open house, my thoughts are with Miss Jane Eyre today.