I had a dream last night that I was churning butter in a giant old-fashioned barrel. I was sleeping next to my girlfriend, in a double bed at my mother’s apartment in Raheny.  I say ‘double’ because in Ireland, that is the smallest DOUBLE bed there is.  It goes: single, double, queen, king, super-king.  It’s basically a glorified single. Small enough that if you do decide to turn over, you’re likely to either A. fall off your side, or B. bang into my girlfriend (or whoever it is you might be sleeping with. Hopefully not my girlfriend).

There I was lying on my side, clinging for dear life with my right leg straddled over her hips and tummy, as she lay on her back sleeping peacefully.  Apparently, my ‘butter-making’ motions directed themselves into that same right leg, which began gyrating slowly on her pelvic bone in an obvious churning rhythm.  She awoke, startled, and curious about what I was doing.  I assume she was getting excited, by the way she whispered in my ear. 

‘Hey gorgeous, what are you dreaming about?’

‘Betsy’, I responded immediately, my eyes remaining closed as I was determined to continue my dream.

My lovely partner seemed to pause for a moment, her gentle rubbing of my shoulders stopped and settled in a firm hold on my lower back.

‘Betsy?’ her voice was no longer a whisper.

‘Yes’, I was becoming agitated that I was about to wake up from my very vivid dream.

‘We are churning butter. In a massive big barrel. I’ve never done this before’. I continued to ramble about where I was, reminding her that Betsy was in fact Betsy Cornwell, the New York Times best-selling author who is in the process of buying The Old Knitting Factory in Galway. We had recently been reading about her mission to create a childcare inclusive arts residency for single moms, and had made a donation last week.  (See http://www.betsycornwell.com/the-old-knitting-factory/ for more information).

My delighted companion burst into laughter, which definitely nudged me into a full awake state. 

‘What?’ I was now annoyed.  ‘It was so vivid, we were in a garden and there was a giant red barn in the distance, and a shed in the corner, and the sun was shining, and we were just making this butter.  I could see cows in a field, and then I saw the sea, but I was determined to finish this butter’. 

It’s a frequent occurrence for me to ramble about every detail of my dreams when I first wake up, so no surprise to her.  She continued snickering.

‘Were you both making the butter?’ she loves to provoke me further when I’m in my semi-dream condition.

‘No.’ I paused. ‘No, it was just me, but Betsy was there.  Just smiling.  She seemed happy. Happy that we’d have butter.  Home-made butter’. 

By then I was awake so I sat up and sleepily pleaded for a coffee.  She knew the routine.  My dreams become alive for a few moments after I wake up, she engages with me to help me remember them, and then I inevitably declare ‘I have to write this down’.  I don’t always write them down, but this one I am.  Clearly.

‘I’ll make some toast, shall I?’ she smirked as she spoke. I knew where this was going.

‘With Butter?’ she thought she was very funny. 

I relaxed back onto my pillow, quietly giggling as she walked towards the kitchen. I closed my eyes, secretly hoping I could go back to my dream. This afternoon, I’ll probably google what it means to dream about churning butter.  If you have any ideas, pop them in the comments section below!  What kind of dreams do you have?