As I’ve written here before, when the going gets tough, I dream about Nazis. This week, on the heels of what amounted to a full scale meltdown of political and societal norms here in the US, I dreamed that the Village-People-inspired mob had left the US capitol and was now coming for me and my kids. We just so happened to be in a Seattle bookstore (do with that what you will) and while I found a spot to lie down and hide, my kids hand to stand, their feet showing.
“Don’t worry,” my youngest said, as she hovered over me. “We won’t tell the angry mob that you’re a Nazi.”
“She’s not a Nazi, one of my older kids said to her. “She’s just foreign-born.”
And there you have it. In this dream, there are not only Nazis, but apparently I am one of them. In this dream, the Nazi is me.
I know that the shit hit the fan in Washington earlier in the week, but other than that, I have lost all track of time. All I know is that I haven’t gone anywhere in a really long time, and every time I look, I have acquired another houseplant. I felt like a superhero this week when I discovered a dinner I had never before made (it involved a crock pot and a can of chick peas, and for that, I’d like to thank the Academy). The other high point was of the week (or month) when I realized that with the right amount of bedding, I could nap right on the floor of my home office. **Note: M is in my old home office. I am in what used to be the guest room, but we are not having any guests ever again – or at least it feels that way. We got rid of the bed in there (again, no guests = no bed) and put in a desk (there are desks everywhere I look in this house, but still not as many desks as houseplants). Then I realized that with no bed, I would have have to improvise my midday catnap. I can’t very well, throw on an eye-mask and go to bed in the middle of the day with people around. What would they think? Besides, my bedroom is now Grand Central (pre-Covid. I’d love it to be the current Grand Central, but we can’t have everything, can we?) and M likes to talk work calls full volume from the attached room.
Hence, blankets, pillows, and a hardwood floor. Needs must, people.
Speaking of Seattle, I’m currently at the Birkenstocks and socks stage of house-fashion and I think I may have ordered a housecoat this week because I cannot stand the sight of myself in my many-zippered mom coat for another moment. I like to wear it about the house, and at any given moment I can find an egg in the pocket. My friend H has the same coat and just last week she pulled out a stick of deodorant. I’m sure a housecoat made of faux sheep will be much more flattering.
In good news, the chickens are laying eggs and even though they are crapping their brains out at an alarming rate, they are pretty low-maintenance. I am waiting for them to enter my dreams, which is how I’ll know they’re here to stay. I guess they have to wait until the Nazis leave. Good luck to them.
