There was a post about washing lines on fb, so I added a tiny poem (verse) I wrote about my mother's washing line, on a stormy New Years day, many years ago. She hung out washing all the year round, as long as it wasn't raining.
Black trees rattle in the icy wind
Through gale-smashed panes
The greenhouse sings
Tights, shirts, tea-towels,
bras and knicks
Dance to welcome eighty-six.
It got two likes.
I would hang out my washing now, if only we had a garden. We have a nice balcony, but wet washing is not allowed on it. And, strangely, in our years on PlanetExpat, when the sun blazed down non-stop we had to use a clothes dryer! If you hung things out, they just got covered in sandy dust.
Have not done much since my last post, as I have been having a severe arthritis flare up in my right hand. Especially difficult now that my left arm is so crippled.
Thursday and Friday were awful, with severe - what is the word that hospitals use? - discomfort. (I think the Gestapo caused some "discomfort" to those they were interrogating.) By Saturday I felt a bit better, and we even made it to Jackie's for supper (Thai chicken, a cheeseboard and a choc ice), but I wasn't able to get dressed till Captain B got back from his day out at the Bird Conference at Clair Hall. I was supposed to go with him, but wasn't able to do that either.
Got to the meeting this morning - but had to listen in on Thursday night. Feel tired and a bit down.
No comments:
Post a Comment