Saturday, September 05, 2015
You're up at the crack of dawn and a laundry load is ready (gratitude for "delayed wash cycle") and you start another. And now you're working on the second clothesline, the one for the sheets.
It's a denim day, air you take deep down into the lungs like a heroin addict who can't get enough of a hit. It's so early there's no traffic and you can hear a gathering of loons around the bay, calling to each other. The sun, the enormous sun, blesses all around you with shards of golden light. You think to yourself: that dinner with the former husband went really well, really, really well last night, a good Newfoundland dinner. A lovely gathering around your table. And you peg up the clothes and what the hell throw on a final load of laundry and think of the day ahead: make soup and bread and stock the new batch of fresh yogurt in the fridge and welcome new PGs at 6 when they arrive and maybe feed them some of that homey goodness. Just what you yourself would want after a six hour road trip.
And everything else recedes for that moment, Syria, the death of close friends, bills to be paid, repairs to be made, editing to be done.
And deep down you know life couldn't get better than this.
And you smile.
What the hell is it about clotheslines anyway?
You wish you could just bottle it up and sell it as your granny would say.