I was at my granny's.
I was somehow then aware of the situation: Roberto and I were stationed in Pensacola, and apparently my granny had a house there (more like a huge and unusually shaped trailer) that she had offered to let us stay in (as long as we paid her rent...). The house had many rooms, most of which we were instructed not to touch. We had known this and respected it without question, and yet all of the sudden it was beyond me why she would make this request---and why I had never challenged it. All at once, inquisition and a delinquent disregard got the better of me (isn't it funny how entire thought processes occur all at once in dreams?), and I waltzed over to the closest forbidden room, I lunged over strings of caution tape and into the satisfaction of my curiosity.
A queen bed adorned with heaps of throw pillows sat in the middle of a room tastefully decorated and teaming with valuable items. The bed in particular is what caught my attention. At the head, there were presents scattered between the throw pillows addressed to different people. I was pretty certain there was one for me; in fact, it would be my rationale for trespassing if she ever found me out. Sure enough, I found one. I tore at the paper of the little package with excitement. What important heirloom was it that granny was waiting to give me?! Upon opening the box, some old and half-eaten chocolates fell out. It seemed of no importance to me, but after waking up I had to laugh. (Kind of an old and not-so-funny inside joke.) At the foot of the bed lay a gun. In no way did I find this odd; it seemed perfectly normally that granny would have a gun. Its extreme accessibility would be her savior from suffering fates like the victims from the Dateline Marathon she'd undoubtedly watched before going to bed. Roberto looked on with angst from the door as I flipped the gun back and forth on its butt, getting a real thrill out of being a (albeit, 22-year-old) grandkid messing around with forbidden things in a forbidden place.
Exploring the rest of the house lead us to similar situations (minus the obviously placed firearms). Bedroom after bedroom with beautiful, immaculate oversized bathrooms with jacuzzi tubs. The backyard also had a jacuzzi, a large pool, a waterfront view, and miscellaneous valuables, including multiple RV's. We couldn't believe that the whole time we'd lived there, all of this was just a wall away! She hadn't been there for years---in fact, I'm not sure if she'd ever been there. But one thing was certain: she had no intention of ever living there. It was just a gem. A treasure trove. A nice placed filled with things that mattered to her enough to buy a house to store them in and never tell anyone else about.
And then the people started to appear. They showed up in the backyard as if there was one of those "GARAGE SALE" signs my granny would drift her car like something out of the Fast and the Furious just to follow. Before we knew it, the jacuzzi had been plucked away and was being toted off to the flatbed of someone's truck. Even the garden gnomes became a dying breed. My uncle appeared out of no where and started kicking the tires on the RV's. The waterfront view turned into an ocean tsunami which threatened to wash everything away. Before I knew it, a tidal wave came, went, and took the pool with it. The entire yard was obliterated. Strangers---more like looters---had made their way into the house and were staking their claims. My granny herself finally appeared onto the scene, snatching things out of people's hands---including my own. (I should have known better; I already had chocolate.)
I don't know why my granny played such a role in this dream, except that I suppose she's always been frugal and somewhat mysterious. But I do know that it reminded me an awful lot of the scripture that our pastor preached on last Sunday---
"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be, also." Matthew 6:20-21
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