Just this evening, bringing yet another basket of laundry up the stairs from the basement, I catch myself sighing, thinking, "Man, laundry is right up there with taxes and death, another sure thing!"!
I note the thought has a tone of "complaint" in it and I feel just a little ashamed for that.
I head out the back door to the deck where the clothesline awaits. About a quarter of the way into the basket of freshly laundered fabrics I find myself quite enjoying this task at hand. Truth be told, somehow I usually find I do. It's not such a bad thing at all.
The clothesline in the beginning, empty, an emptiness longing to be filled! The basket filled with fresh, dampened clothes and linens, about to become an exhibit, a long line of visual pleasantry. A light breeze will only add to the visual pleasure of colour, shape and form of a very routine effort that suddenly takes on a very artistically fulfilling life.
How lovely, lucky me for I have clothes to wear, linens for beds we sleep in, AND a line to hang them on after washing them clean with water at my own home. Then for me to enjoy a few moments watching them flap gently on a breeze and become so happily inspired by, I am incredibly grateful and now shall write with such gratefulness upon a slip of paper and deposit it into my grateful jar.
I will confess, I may find it harder to think this way when our winters are bearing down so harshly upon us and I will most likely turn to the luxury of the modern day dryer, which too may offer some inspiring effects worthy of artistic outcomes. If nothing artistically profound I shall then revel in the luxury of instant warmth !
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