I finally washed the Italian creamer I got from Goodwill. I knew nothing of its quality as it sat there forlornly on the shelf with all the other unwanted kitchen wares. But with its heavy stainless steel and promising spout, I figured it would be a suitable replacement for the tiny creamer we currently use. In fact, I was confident it would be good; who cares more about their coffee than Italians?
The clean laundry has reached new heights on our bed. The red, white, and both blue laundry baskets have all gone missing from the laundry room, each one used to shuttle more and more clean clothes into our room (command center for folding operations). Even that blue basket, the one I try to avoid because of the mysterious stains all over it, has been used. Desperate times, desperate measures.
On the way to the park we passed an assisted living facility named Almost Home. I pointed it out and we both laughed. While we think it is supposed to be understood that living there is like living in your own home, we read it differently. We felt certain they couldn't have picked a worse name, except perhaps for You are here because you are about to kick the bucket.
The leather ottoman lost its luster a long time ago. On my list of things to do was to clean and condition it. As I sat there cleaning its dark skin, I realize all that it has been through. It has served as a table, extra seating, and most often a resting place for our dirty shoes in Missouri, California, and now here. There are a few cracks and perhaps more permanent stains, but as the conditioned cloth smoothed over the rough and dry surface, I was thankful that leather is resilient. The sheen is restored and the surface supple.
Our weekends, like leather conditioner, are a time of restoration. Long talks, tending to our lists, cleaning and laundering, outdoor eating, and visits to the park...all to get ready for the race of the week to come.
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Saturday's journal
Posted by Alina at 4:51 PM
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7 comments:
I am cracking up at the 'Almost Home'. My grandmother lived in a nursing home for the last few years of her life, and it was called 'Sunset Manor'. I always thought how awful that name was too. The place where you go to kick the bucket. Too funny.
There's something so calming to me about a clean kitchen sink; I love your photo. And the words here ~ chores are sometimes drudgery, but at other times, it's lovely to cleanse, yes?
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