Other people's dreams are one of the least interesting things to most people. Jack Kerouac wrote an entire book describing his and it is the only book of his I never dip into nor would ever dip into again.
So I'm not going to bore anyone with my dreams. But I have a question that's been in the back of my mind all my life. Or ever since I left home in my late teens in 1960. Because since then, ninety-nine percent of my dreams that I remember when I wake up are set in or around my childhood home.
Sometimes Manhattan is across the street from it, or China out back (I remember that happening a lot in the late 1960s when Mao and China loomed large in leftist arguments), sometimes the house is empty or one or more of my late siblings and late parents are there, either as they were when I was young or as they were in their later years.
Often the interior of the house varies, rooms are larger, ceilings higher, but just as often it's exactly as it was when I was a boy. But with rare exceptions I am almost assuming occur, because I can't remember even one at the moment, (wait, I remember one that took place inside the Catholic church I went to Mass at every Sunday morning until I left home, Our Lady of Sorrows—which it occurs to me explains the kind of woman I was often attracted to), my dreams involve my childhood home.
So my question is: anyone out there share this experience in their dream life?