The Bread Dream

I was having dinner at my in-laws’ house. The small dining room was crowded with several tables, Maple wood, Americana design. The tables are full of food. It’s like Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter, al set up at once. The tables and chairs are crowded together, making walking around difficult. Careful paths must be followed.

I was making a plate up for my mother-in-law. In RL, she died several years ago. I’d filled half of a flowery China plate with food for her. I was walking around with the plate in my hand, looking for mashed potatoes. While looking for them, I kept finding huge stashes of bread. It was all variations available – rye loaves, sourdough, sliced, rolls, hamburger and hot dog buns, some small, fancy loaves, seeded loaves, long baguettes. Wholly unlike my RL in-laws who ate white hamburger and hot dog buns and Roman Meal bread. I never saw a baguette in their house in forty-five years of knowing them. The bread is everywhere, on the tables, under the tables, on the chairs, on the floor, in the corners. Some of it is bagged and some of it is loose.

She was on the other side of the room with her back to me. I said to her, “Wow, you sure do have a lot of bread. Why do you have so much bread?” An answer wasn’t given; I kept looking for the mashed potatoes.

Dream shift. It’s now night. My wife and I are in a car. We’re waiting to pick up something from my FIL. In RL, he passed away at the end of 1991. I’m waiting to back into a spot on the street. The street is wet. Before I can park where I want, I need to wait for a truck to pull out and leave, otherwise, I’ll block him in. I’m watching the truck in my mirror, muttering, “Come on, come on, what is taking so long?”

The truck finally pulls away. I back into the desired spot, and parallel park with amazing perfection. My FIL comes out. I open the trunk. I turn to see what he’s loading. I’m incredulous as I realize he’s putting bread in the trunk. I tell him, “Why do you need so much bread? You have a ton of the stuff at home.”

He closes the trunk and tells me to pull back to another location. I do that, and then get out to see how I’m parked. The dark car is perfectly parked again. My FIL comes out with his arms full and tells me to open the back door. I do; he puts more bread in it. I ask again, “Why do you want so much bread?”

Dream ends.

Sunday’s Theme Music

Today is March 20, 2022. Eleven days left before the March madness ends and the April antics begin.

Sunday lived up to its name this morning in the valley with the sun briskly slathering golden light on the greening hills and trees promptly at 7:14 AM. The expected warmth was slower to follow. Overnight lows at my house was 32 F, and it’s just 35 now. We expect a high of 52. Sunset will close the show at 7:23 on the day’s other end. It’s not a clear blue sky, but a gray hazed one where azure dominates.

I read last night that we’re in a megadrought, the worse in 1200 years in the continental U.S. It began in the west, California, Oregon, etc., and is spreading. Fortunately, our local civic leaders have taken note and approved more housing. We don’t have water for the folks here now, but hey, let’s crowd more in. Development, growth, you know: it’s good for business. Of course, the business won’t be good when the wildfires start and smoke fills the skies and drive everyone away, but they apparently don’t think that’s gonna happen this year. Not after it’s happened so many times in recent years. Why, what are the chances?

Sorry, let me turn off the snark mode.

Another article mentioned that the glaciers and icecaps were melting in both Antartica and the Arctic this year, so we’ve got that going for us. Temperatures in Antarctica were 70 degrees warmer than normal, and those in the Arctic were 50 above normal.

On the sick cat front, he bounced back and started eating and drinking yesterday afternoon. After a lethargic start to the day, he grew increasingly spirited. I’ve fed him several times this morning. He’s now at my feet asking for me. Excuse me, gotta got attend a cat. It’s the rule.

Back. You probably didn’t even notice I was gone, did you. Quick as a cat, I was.

I have a Gin Blossoms tune from 1992 in the morning mental music stream. The neurons pulled up “Hey Jealousy” as they watched Tucker sulking as sick cat was fed and given attention. Tucker was all, “What about me? Give me more food. Pet me more, damn it. I’m numero uno in this hold.” I did what I could for him, of course, but Boo is hanging on to his life. (Writing that caused the neurons to bring up The Guess Who with “Hang On to Your Life” from 1970. The neurons are busy this morning.)

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. My wife is immune compromised so we’ll still being masking up for a while as we watch the situation evolve as the masks come off. Here’s the tune. I’m off for coffee. Gotta give the neurons something to settle them down. Cheers

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