For as long as I can remember I have occasionally had recurring dreams of being lost within this building. I wander down hallways too long to fit inside a structure this size, with doors alternating sides every dozen or so feet, opening onto random rooms... Bedrooms with ornate tin ceilings, dusty storage rooms filled with chairs and tables, stairwells leading up and down but always ending back on the same floor, empty windowed rooms, the sun shining in at different angles, lighting hard wood floors and wallpapered walls, the windows always looking out over the same field. I never desire to leave, which is just as well, because I do not think I could discover the way, but if I did, if I were to walk right out the front door, across a one lane road and up a short steep hill, I know this is what I would see. It would be older but younger, simpler, painted white, radiating character and hard work through a fog of half forgotten memories - this is a place where my dreams dream. I sometimes walk along with a younger version of my grandfather than the man I grew up loving - he’s roughly my age now, but I am still younger than him... his smile is the same as I remember, his strong German accent in contrast to his gentle kindness, self taught and the smartest man I ever knew, a patriarch of the highest of order, he tells me stories, wisdom imparted as if it were an afterthought - the life he lived was storied and long, filled with love - I can hear him still.