Posted tagged ‘clothes lines’

“Memories are like a garden. Regularly tend the pleasant blossoms and remove the invasive weeds.”

January 16, 2018

I woke up to the sun and a blue sky, but I knew it was just the sun with light, no warmth. The temperature is 33˚. My feet crunched on the grass when I went to get the papers. The dusting from yesterday’s snow has frozen. Nothing will melt. The snow covers the ice. I’m careful.

I don’t remember much about being really little. I have only fleeting pictures in my memories. I remember the nursery school where I lasted a single day. It was a brick building covered in ivy and was across the street from our apartment building. My mother told me I cried so much the second day she never sent me again. That part I don’t remember. I remember the backyard. It was filled with clothes lines stretched from metal poles. They were in boxes outlined by chain link fences, and each apartment building had its own lines in its own box. I remember how the lines were surrounded by the brick buildings filled with apartments. The front of my building had steps which were in a small round row.

When I was five, we moved from the city to the town where I would grow up. I don’t remember moving, but I do remember exploring and being found by the police who said I was lost. I didn’t notice. My sister lives on the same street only a block away from where I was found. Coincidence is funny. I have no recollection of my first day of school, but I remember being terrified by Sister Redempta. Mrs. Kerrigan was my second grade teacher, and she was old. I remember flowered dresses and gray hair and seeing her walk across the street from the church to the house where she lived. Her apartment was on the second floor. I loved my nun in the third grade, Sister Eileen Marie, and I remember our classroom was in the cellar of the rectory. I remember tables and chairs instead of desks, and I know I sat on the outside of a table toward the back of the room. I was eight that year. Going to school in the cellar was a sort of adventure.

From then on, my memories are more vivid, but they are fragmented as my memory drawers are nearly full. I cram the most recent memories way in the back of the drawer almost in a pile. I figure it is a good thing when I have sloth days as there is nothing memorable, nothing to keep in mind except warmth, comfort and a good book.

“You can tell a lot about a person from his underwear.”

June 17, 2011

Yesterday was summer. It started on the deck in the morning with coffee and the papers and ended at the bottom of the ninth, another Sox win. My friends invited me to dinner on the deck. We drank frosty Creamsicles, played Phase 10 and ate hamburgers and deviled eggs. We laughed as we always do together. Candles were lit and the smell of lemon filled with air. It was quiet everywhere else in the neighborhood but not on that deck.

Today is cloudy and chilly. I went out with my coffee and papers and came back inside two pages later. It may rain, and by the looks of the sky and the feel of dampness in the air, this afternoon will get wet.

An editorial in the Globe gave me a laugh this morning. A state senator has proposed a bill prohibiting homeowner associations and the like from restricting solar-clothes drying devices; however, the bill is not without controversy. Some associations demand the bill restrict these devices to back yards. Last year the city of Concord passed a right to dry measure, but it is in conflict with the current state law. The Laundry List, a national right-to-dry advocacy based in New Hampshire, has an on-line petition urging the First Family to put up a clothesline on the White House lawn. I have a vision of unmentionables blowing in the breeze near the West Wing.

I went hunting and found The History Bluff and an article about Presidential underwear. It came as no surprise that Harry Truman often liked to go commando or that Richard Nixon preferred whitey- Tighties. The only underwear conversion came when Calvin Coolidge, who wore whitie-tighties for the first two years of his presidency, switched over to boxers after being ridiculed by Vice President Charles Dawes. Although Coolidge admitted it felt strange for the first few weeks, he was glad for the change and was grateful to Dawes.

It seems that a President is required to write down his underwear preference for his staff so that they may purchase underwear for him when necessary. I’m thinking that’s going too far. Some things should just be kept private. My advice to the President is pack more than enough in case you have to stay longer. I always do.