chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

Monthly Archives: January 2014

BUTTER…

A sea…

fear…

architects…

orchestra…

the ossified…

to know…

collect…

January 22

the lore…

always…

A piece…

the laundry

Mt Hood Drying RackAs the laundry sloshes in the washer, I suddenly recall that we didn’t have a washing machine when I was growing up. When we moved into the house, my father might have considered home washers to be an extravagance or, worse, a fad. But I suspect it was my mother’s decision — that she would not be a laundress to anyone — that “people like us” did not wash their own clothes. Oddly, it wasn’t until I went off to college, when there was less laundry, that my parents finally got a washer and dryer.

In the furnace room, which was in the very middle of the house, two white, heavy cotton sacks gaped open in their metal stand, one for whites, one for colors. Folded next to the stand was a wooden drying rack that would be unfurled for the occasional hand-washed item. We didn’t have a clothesline.

At some interval that was known only to my mother, the bags would be lifted out, drawstrings cinched, and on his way to work in the morning my father would drop them at the laundry. That evening, or perhaps the next, he’d pick them up, clean-smelling bundles wrapped in blue paper.

His shirts went somewhere else — to the dry cleaner — and they’d return home crisp and folded, each one wrapped around the ever-useful piece of cardboard, encircled with a ribbon of white paper, stays in their collars, the stack of shirts wrapped in glossy brown paper. No plastic bags, no hangers.

It seems so odd now, when washers and dryers are as essential as sinks, to have lived this way, to have been innocent of laundry until I was in college, when I found my way to the on-campus laundromat with my clothes and coins and book.
. . . . .
drying rack

slow…

This winter…

white…

morning

green bin

I imagined a bear
lumbering black hump
in the back by the bin
when I looked out the window
this morning but no bear
was there just the green
bin steady and square
and the dark road
and leafless limbs
swaying in November
wind that should have denned
but wanders instead
the alleys of January

© j.i. kleinberg

to combat…

the loving…

SOME BRIDGES…

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