Growing up (in as much as I grew up at all), we had an embarrassment of riches when it came to Flintstones repeats. One of our local channels, one of four English channels available to us out in the middle of nowhere (otherwise known as the farm I grew up on and miss dearly), aired the Flintstones twice a day, six days a week. Not bad. But while my brother Harv quickly tired of the show, I never did. Literally, I never did. To this day I can't get enough of the Flintstones, even though I often find myself reciting the show along with Alan Reed, Mel Blank and the others.
I remember sitting on the school bus, allowing my mind to float freely into obscurity as it is wont to do, and imagining I had a box of films with all the Flintstones episodes ever made. I knew it was a pipe dream, although at the time I didn't know what a pipe dream was. "Hey, Mom, what a pipe dream this is!" "What do you mean?" "I have no idea, hopefully all will become clear someday. If this is a pipe dream I'm in the middle of, I hope that's good."
Now here I sit, surrounded by a rather astounding collection of old TV shows on DVD. And what's this? The first five seasons of the Flintstones? Only one more to collect? So that's what a pipe dream is: a dream that more or less comes true! Wow!
The moral of the story, such as it is? Dare to dream. I know I will.