A Strange Thing that Happens Sometimes

In the early morning hours between sleep and waking, I have the fleeting impression that I am in my bed at home in Dallas. One such morning I heard someone banging around in the small kitchen down the hall, and I was sure it was my mom in the kitchen downstairs cooking breakfast for everyone. I could also hear the trash truck outside my window on its weekly round emptying the trash cans, and I was sure it was my dad driving across the front yard in the truck pulling the noisy, rickety cattle trailer we have. I laid there for a few minutes completely convinced I was at home sleeping in on a Saturday morning wishing my parents weren't being so loud. But as I rolled over in my tiny bed and hit the wall, reality struck full force. It was not Mom making noise in the kitchen, and it was not Dad outside my window rattling along. I am in France, alone in my room, being awakened by the sounds of a busy dormitory far from a Saturday morning at home.

This has happened several times, maybe three or four times. Its strange, but pretty soon I will be waking up at home in Dallas. As of today, I have less than three weeks to go here in France.