I had a dream the other day.

Not a dream that filled my subconscious while sleeping, but a waking state reverie that seemed real and so fantastical at the same time.

I was in a public restroom, maybe at a performance venue or department store. It was clean but not accessorized or fancy. No framed art or plastic flowers. There were quite a few stalls and lots of white shallow sinks.

After ladies and kids emerged from their respective stall doors and positioned themselves in front of a sink, after they adjusted the water flow and played with the dispenser which spurted out foam soap, I watched and listened to everyone singing as they wet their hands and began making suds.

They were cupping then rubbing their palms against the knuckles of their other hand firmly and swiftly, as if their hands were parts in mechanized assembly line. Random bubbles turned into lather as each person sped up their rubbing motion.

And everyone sang their own song. Quietly. But definitely audibly.

A young mother with a light complexion sang “Happy Birthday.”  A smartly suited, forty-something, auburn haired woman lathered up her hands to the tune of “Michael Row the Boat Ashore.”

A young girl, probably eight or so, straining to get her hands to reach all the way under the faucet sang “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”  Or maybe it was the “Alphabet” song which used the same tune.

It dawned on me that everyone must be singing songs as they washed their hands because of what they heard on the TV news about the Coronavirus.

They announced that one of the little things everyone can do is wash their hands frequently — for at least 20 seconds, adding that a good way to make sure to fill the optimal time was to sing Happy Birthday or another such song.

My offbeat sense of humor made an appearance in this dream scene. Under the sounds of gently streaming water, I could hear someone singing the Jeopardy theme song, the one that is played when contestants write the question for the just revealed Final Jeopardy answer.

So, the world is awash in anxiety.

The stock market has been tumbling faster than a pair of Vegas dice on a green felt covered craps table. International trade shows have been canceled. Families and businesspeople have put travel plans on hold.

The White House has amped up their mis-information campaign.  While understanding that it’s important not to encourage the spread anxiety, it doesn’t seem right to present inaccurate information about the number of available test kits and the plan for distributing them.

And I come back to the guidance to wash our hands, to wash them properly, for longer than most of us usually do, a good and simple prescription for reducing the spread of bacteria under any circumstances.

I love this thought. The directive is clear. It something everyone understands — and CAN DO.

Washing hands, itself, is a sort of mindfulness practice. It can be performed purely as a good hygiene habit, but in the time it takes to soap up and rub your hands until thoroughly clean, a person can contemplate WHY the act is important.

When a neighbor brings a casserole (any hot dish) to the house of a family that just lost a member…

When there’s a devastating earthquake in a part of the world you usually don’t think about and you send $50 to the Red Cross and PRAY…

When, despite the inaction of governments and municipalities to promote and enforce a comprehensive plan to manage and reverse the effects of global warming, you choose to run shopping errands on foot when you can (and bring your reusable tote)…

You recall all the many small decisions you make every day. Most seem insignificant against a wide backdrop of grief or pervasiveness of a problem. What can one person do, right?

Then you recognize that anything you CAN DO, any action that moves things in the right direction, any action that inspires hope or reflects compassion or respect or inter-connectedness, is important because it makes YOU feel like you’re part of the remedy.

Washing your hands is no small thing.