Laundry Day
So, as I'm hanging the laundry, there's a little singsong voice from somewhere before 1980 in my head going: "My mother and your mother were hanging out clothes. My mother punched your mother right in the nose..." Then, for some reason, we would spell the chosen color of blood to choose who was "it". What an odd little custom we had.
It made me think of two things. I thought of my mother, her arms like the whole wheat bread dough she punched in the bowl as she listened to opera on Saturday afternoons, and wished I'd have taken the opportunities to work side by side with her before she passed away over 30 years ago.
It also made me think of how lovely the simple act of hanging out laundry can be. Warm sunshine mingles with prairie breezes to magically dry clothes free of charge. Cool, moist fabric touches my skin in a simple act of kindness on this warm day. Everything comes in smelling like sky.
So, if you have a mother who's hanging out clothes, or if you are one, you're lucky indeed.
No comments:
Post a Comment