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?”