My wife and I were once again young and were living in a home with an enormous kitchen. Filled with hyper-modern stainless-steel appliances, it had blonde wood cabinets and a dark, brick red tile floor. I didn’t think that combo worked in the dream but shrugged it off. Besides those aspects and the appliances, I don’t think the room had any windows, but it did have two sinks, which impressed me although I wondered if two sinks were necessary, and a huge work island with a redwood top.
I actually spent the first dream segment admiring where I was, the newness of the appliances, the size of the kitchen, how modern everything was. The refrigerator especially impressed me. About eight feet tall, the combo refrigerator-freezer unit featured an interesting, complex set of controls on the side to control different interior sections to store different foods at different temperatures. Beyond that, I drifted to looking at the range and stove, microwave, and dish washer. Looking at the microwave led me to exclaim, “Look at all the things it can do,” but in the immediate aftermath of that, my wife said, “The refrigerator isn’t working.”
She said that with angry intensity and stormed around the kitchen, complaining about it, talking about shutting it off, calling repair people, etc. I returned, “Hold on, it has this complex control. There’s probably a self-diagnosis aspect to this.” As I began thumbing through the electronic menus, she then announced, “Now the microwave is broken.”
Going to her, I asked, “How is the microwave broken?” Instead of answering me, she began furiously cleaning the floor with a mop and rag. I tried talking with her, but she brooded and focused on cleaning. She surprised me by sliding the large island to one side to clean the floor beneath it. As the island had covered the floor, it looked spotless, which I pointed out. Answering, “It still needs cleaned,” she stormed away to get more cleaning supplies. Figuring that I wasn’t going to dissuade her from cleaning, I cleaned that floor section, and then moved the island again and cleaned the floor there.
It’s Friday, March — no, FEBRUARY* — 25, 2022, another year marked by another war. Sunrise struck at 6:53 AM. The rays’ kisses lifted us from 23 degrees F to our present 33. We reached the upper forties yesterday and expect to see mid-fifties today before we turn our back to the sun again at 5:56 PM. Although the streak of pleasant weather in January and early Feb. were enjoyable, we’re all feeling more relieved to have this wintry weather and normal temperatures, and more snow on the mountains. Maybe, we think, fingers crossing, we won’t have such a hot and dry summer. Maybe food will grow properly, and the skies won’t be dark with smoke blocking the sun. Maybe…
War is on my mind, of course. Images coming from Ukraine show the low value and utter contempt the invading Russians display for human life, all for what? Some friends and relations hope that the images will bring an end to war or at least tarnish its image as a glorious pursuit. But world leaders like Putin have rarely been to war. “Forward, he cried, from the rear, and the front ranks died.” Pink Floyd nailed that didn’t they?
Songs in the morning mental music stream range from “Peace Train” by Yusuf Islam (formerly known as Cat Stevens), to “Warchild” by Jethro Tull, “Sunday Bloody Sunday” by U2, “Imagine” by John Lennon. But Edwin Starr’s powerful 1970 song. “War” says it well. It came to mind when the US was in Vietnam, and all the subsequent invasions and ‘military actions’ — such a polite expression — since. “War. Good God, y’all, what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again.”
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, get the vax and boosters, hold your breath and say your prayers for Ukraine and its people.
*Apparently the cats got on the kb and changed the date on me when I turned my back to drink some coffee. Thanks to the Huntress for pointing it out.