Like many kids, I often wished my house had a tower. Not the princess/royal castle kind of tower, but the hidden staircase/secret room kind of tower. Like a tower you’d find in a Nancy Drew Mystery. One that you could hide in, spy on the neighorhood from, and read mysteries in on a stormy afternoon. That kind of tower.
Sadly, though, the 1950s ranch house of my childhood did not have such a tower. In fact, none of the houses in the neighborhood had a tower.
Now one does.
I am jealous.
Many of my childhood dreams have changed. Some have been achieved, some have gone by the wayside.
But I still dream of having a tower.