More on Lissapol-N
The good thing about those days was that we used to wash up together, and that promoted family harmony, which is a bad pun because we really did sing while we did it. We sang in the car too. Disharmony happened when the washer was sloppy and left nasties on the underside of the plates for the dryer to smear.
I still get an echo of those complex-simpler days when I contemplate that all my dishes match, that I buy glasses by the pack and they line up in abundance, matching, and that I am now liberated from the need to drain the last ounce of goodness out of everything (my mother once asked, "What is it you EXPECT from your teatowels?")
Would it be more productive/comfortable not even to have that internal dialogue? I'm never going to save the world one teatowel at a time, and if I have to find fault with my darling self, it is that I have no vision. Maybe I have no vision because I am still sawing the sawdust.
I still get an echo of those complex-simpler days when I contemplate that all my dishes match, that I buy glasses by the pack and they line up in abundance, matching, and that I am now liberated from the need to drain the last ounce of goodness out of everything (my mother once asked, "What is it you EXPECT from your teatowels?")
Would it be more productive/comfortable not even to have that internal dialogue? I'm never going to save the world one teatowel at a time, and if I have to find fault with my darling self, it is that I have no vision. Maybe I have no vision because I am still sawing the sawdust.
posted by Tricia Rose at 2:41 PM
1 Comments:
Singing? The way I recall it i washed you dried we fought.
In the weary light of the Sydney brownouts, the gaslamp above the stove in case Pyrmont finally gave up and we entered full scale blackout. Hurrah- no more washing up (until breakfast time that is.)
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