Most people do not start dreaming until their head hits the pillow, and they begin to fall into a sleepy slumber. Dreaming in my home as a child was always just a little bit different. My roomy country home surrounded by luscious greenery coaxed my imagination into endless enchanted fairytale adventures that would excite any princess, including myself. With princes to save, and a country to run, my childhood was a very busy one. The queen and king (I reluctantly referred to as Mom and Dad) found me fast paced, and had a hard time keeping up with my ridiculous antics. Never the less, I was their princess and could choose which challenges to take on each day.
Waking up every morning to an intense blur of purple hazy walls I was royalty of my own world, or at least my bed chamber. Vast amounts of temperament were shed during these early morning hours because beauty rest I knew was of great importance –the Disney movies would tell me so. Rising late each day, I demanded the world’s best cup of chocolate milk which could be made by none other then the queen herself. (For the king, always left early for his daily duties of running a kingdom.) Everyone knows a princess must look the part, and so each morning I’d sit in front of a dainty vanity opposite to my bed. “Mirror, mirror on the wall, should I wear pink eye shadow and red lipstick or sparkles with blush?” I would repeat each morning as I stared at myself until I grew bored waiting for a response.
At this point, it was always necessary pick a new battle to conquer, a new evil to dissipate. My favorite activity each day was to head into my mysterious forest to rescue my prince from his warty, green fate given to him by a scary witch with a nose as huge as a carrot. I would find my toads on the shaded forest floor hiding in the leaves, still clinging to moisture from morning dew. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter how many toads I plugged my nose to kiss, a handsome man in unusual tights and breeches never appeared.
By lunch time with the sun high in the sky, food would be waiting for me on the balcony that over looked a long country road leading into a town so far away, that it was impossible to see. Dayton Chuck the Jester and my best friend was never far from the balcony at lunch time. Together we would munch on the tastiest gourmet food there was: peanut butter and jam sandwiches or mini microwave pizza, while attentively discussing our next agenda item.
Usually a strenuous mission in my heavily cluttered basement playroom to hunt the screeching tyrannosaurus rex was all just part of a regular day in the life of the jester and me. The basement of my castle took on its own vibrant jungle life with narrow paths, curving around towering trees, over fallen logs, and under low branches. The mission was much like hide and seek, except the fate of my royal family depended upon us slaying the overpowered tyrannosaurus rex. Since happy endings are a Disney bonus, my jester and I always won at the end of the day, leaving us both incredibly exhausted in mind, body and spirit.
At bed time, King Daddy would reappear to tell me the stories from all his childhood adventures. He always knew just how to make me feel like his special princess by tucking me into purple Barney comforters tight and just right. When he closed the door to my living quarters for the night, my fair godmother appeared with a song to help me asleep. Dancing around the room (oversized for her pixie body) she preformed her good-night spell. Not even then did my mind rest, because this is where the real dreaming began.