I had a dream last night about my big, fat American dream. Major parts of the dream came true. Some of it took a long time and other parts happened rather quickly.
Of course, some parts did not come true. In 1964 I saw the Beatles and decided I wanted to become a rock star.
In 1965 I dreamed of owning an XKE (it's a Jaguar and yes, I admit it's a very shallow dream considering it's a mechanically unreliable car) and I saw myself driving to California with a blond. I didn't get the XKE but I scored bigtime on the blond, and instead of California, we headed south to Puerto Penasco in my new Ford Flex. And, yes, I'm happy to report, we slept together, more than once!
In 1989 I read "The Saga of Billy the Kid" by Walter Noble Burns and suddenly, rather dramatically, I saw myself doing something Western (prior to this I was still in rock star mode). I didn't know what exactly, but in a superstitious, baseball-player-kind-of-way, every time I saw a penny on the ground I would pick it up and say the word, "Western," as I squeezed it. Three years later I published "The Illustrated Life & Times of Billy the Kid," followed by similar books on Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday. More books followed (13 so far), and then in 1999 we bought True West magazine.
Thanks to an old book I bought in 1974, I fell in love with Santa Fe style adobe houses. I dreamed of some day owning one, preferably on an historic site.
Now I live in one on the site where Al Sieber shot it out with Apaches in 1874.
"Nothing happens unless first a dream."