We've been watching Fellini films. Last night, after I finished "La Dolce Vita", I went to sleep at peace despite the dark realities and violence of the movie. But I had meaty, symbol-ridden dreams. I was walking down my current street. The houses were the same mid-century ranches we still have, but only those: no brand new McMansions. As I walked, the houses got smaller, the trees denser, and I was on the street of my early childhood. Both streets are dead ends. I passed so many houses, wondering who lived in each one. Were they people with interesting lives? People who would fascinate me or people not worth knowing? People I might have met before or even know now? I saw the house of my childhood music director who had indeed been my neighbor, but the paint was peeling and the house was dilapidated and empty. At the end of the street, a vision! A beautiful glass and cedar modern house on a woodsy lot near a stream. An Asian man and his wife and child were working on it and invited me to tour. I met the man's father, who told me the story of how he met his wife, the daughter of a wealthy, powerful corporate leader. Then my children joined me, and we heard a funny noise, a noise that was very familiar to me. I knew at once it was my toddler son, waking up from his nap. So I took my children with me, warned them to be very quiet because they were about to be able to enter the past, and walked into the room. My little boy, about 18 months old, was in a crib smiling and asking to be picked up. My children laughed at him and we watched my son's former self until my eyes opened.