What comes to mind

Dante dreamt of Beatrice; Homer Simpson dreams of donuts. On my first night away from Cleo, I dreamt of... Cleo. In a Holiday Inn Express in Lynchburg, VA, happily tired after a day of golf, baseball, beer and catching up with old high school friends, I found myself convinced that Cleo was in the nice large white bed with me, sleeping in her trusty car seat through the night.

What brings things to mind? In this case, habit, absence, and a large dose of simple love created the dream. She's on my mind, even when she's not in the room. But how to explain the songs that come tumbling out as I carry her, or play with her? Me and Bobby McGee was one of the first to come to me, and I still don't know why: maybe it's the simple theme of companionship that appeals. Sometimes it's embarrassingly literal; today, after L walked with us for a spell and then peeled off to write some thank-you notes, it was Separate Ways. And in other cases, it's more nonsense than anything: a rambling, spontaneous tune and words that don't mean much beyond their simple sounds. Magma that bubbles to the surface.

We like to imagine that as parents we'll offer an environment that appeals to and that shelters our children. But as often as not, the environment that we create is the result of subconscious urges, native feelings, and sensed continuities. Things come to mind, unsummoned.