Dream Journal Update — The Concert

November 2, 2012
After finding a washing machine, I sit back in my seat, an aisle one in the right-hand section of the theater, maybe ten rows from the stage. I’ve pulled the heavy piece of luggage carrying the boots — the piece is from my youth, and seemed so much lighter then! Have I really lost that much muscle? — and sorted the laundry. The machines are cubes, about two-feet square, piled on top of each other.  Which to use?  Which to buy? I start to stuff my sorted clothes and linens into machines, but get confused about the soap.  Adorable little bottles, so many to choose from. I had gathered up a dozen assorted ones. But, wait — the machine is a high-powered Vista, and needs a special soap. I aim to return all the soaps I no longer can use to the proper boxes, but can’t match them up right. Too many left over. How confusing. Each of the machines seem to be about $200, my budget. I should be more careful, and research the machines rather than just select one from the nearest store. But I need to do my wash. Any of these will do.

After putting a load in to one machine, I settle into my seat. A soprano with an angel voice sings in a Scottish or Irish dialect I don’t understand. I don’t need to know the words, I know it is a love song and the most beautiful voice I have ever heard. She is looking right at me, she must have heard the advice to find an appreciative audience member and sing to just one person. And I know I am that person; we are in perfect sync. As I smile at her, she smiles back — never missing a beat of the most beautiful song.  I have chills and am elevated listening to her every word sung in the most stunning manner. I begin to make out some of the words, I am paying such close attention. Do others realize how luscious this moment is? How fantastic this singer is? When the song ends, shall I stand? I see only a few others do. I don’t care if I’m different, if I’m the only one standing.  I rise to my feet and clap.

It’s intermission; I’d better tend the laundry. How do I get to the machine that is in the middle of the wide center section? Oh, good, people are clearing out of the row and I can get to the machine. I comment to the others tending their laundry. “Whoever placed the machines in the center of the row, didn’t attend the theater himself, I bet. A horrible place to put them, rather than the end of a row.”

As I make my way to my seat with laundry in tow, someone comments on my doing laundry at such a time as this. “I like to multi-task,” I offer as an embarrassed explanation.

Meanwhile, I hold the song of the soprano in my heart.

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About B. E. Berger

Making life better by sharing stories and pictures.
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4 Responses to Dream Journal Update — The Concert

  1. wxmouse says:

    The greatest moments and heights of pleasure interspersed with the mundane. I like this.

  2. Reminds me of the Cloister Walk by Kathleen Norris. I read this years ago. Someone in the book was referring so someone’s death and remarked, “Finally her laundry is done.” It also brings to mind the story of Vasalisa and how she had to do Baba Yaga’s Laundry. There is a rather long section in Women Who Run With the Wolves about the symbolic use of laundry in the story.

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