Dreams

Last week my mother asked me if I have any dreams. I had to think about that for a while. Now literally I have dreams at night, but I rarely remember them at the moment, which is probably a good thing overall. Apparently my unconscious doesn't have anything vitally mportant to say to me just now. But do I have the life dreams, the aspirations that are commonly thought to be the point of life. The american dream is to have a dream and then realize it.
What I have are hypothetical situations. Should I win the lottery and have millions of dollars I have a number of pre-made plans from which to select. In fact, the main reason why my wife and I spend the $5 a month on tickets is to ad the spice of possible reality to these dreams. We don't for a minute think we will win, but the possibility is worth $5 a month in that these dreams have a chance (a vanishingly small chance) of happening. But I don't this counts as a dream. These aren't lifelong ambitions towards which I intend to work.
The final category that comes close to dreams are little images I have of possible futures not involving massive strokes of luck. I have a picture of myself sitting on a creaky, weathered rocking chair on a porch looking out over a beach. Things are quiet and peaceful, it's a picture of contentment. Another picture is of a mountain meadow with a few sheep and a dog, smoke curling gently out of a hobbit hole. These seem to suggest some yearning for peace and quiet, away from the demands of people. As my life goes on I find that this is happening more and more. People around can't be relied upon to stay the same, to be the same people, to interact in the same ways. As such I am finding more and more that it's nice to have some social interaction with people, but my friendships have become more superficial, more distant.
However, my third and last image of a dream for the future is myself in an irish pub as an old, crusty guy, playing the tunes and singing the songs with young and old alike.