I came across this old sketch by my youngest brother Thom and couldn’t help but smile. I tried to picture when Thom, who just left for college a month ago, might have done this. He’s become quite an amazing artist, though he wouldn’t admit to that, especially if you put him on the spot.

I like the notion of imagining the ideal version of any number of simple things. Dream chairs. Dream desks. Dream mugs that are both sleek and keep my coffee warm. My current yearning is for the perfect wood stove to round out my writing shack, which is still under construction. I’ve been watching craigslist for weeks now and only a couple have caught my eye. The best so far, though, just sold from under me this morning.

I’m a little disappointed, worried I might not find another like it, especially for the right price. But when it comes down to it, I get to go back to the sketch in my mind. The page that still has plenty of room for my scratches, for a kind of dreaming that hasn’t heard of practicality, for the part of me that knows I’ll find just the right thing.