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| Sunday, April 02, 2006 |
| Clean Laundry |
There is definately some unconcious connection between happy moments in childhood and the smell of clean laundry, but only if your wash is completed in your parent's washer and drier. It doesnt matter if you use the same soap as anywhere else, something is different. I like to spend the weekends at my parent's house. I always forget my pajama's and sleep in one of my father's broken in warm sets. My mother always has sugary cereal and a jar full of cookies for surprize guests. They are phenomenal, mom and dad.. they raised nine children, always managing to keep the cupboards full and the cheer invariably set in place within our home.
Mom was a nurse, followed in the footsteps of her mother. I wonder often if the art of healing is perpetually passed from mother to daughter in our family lineage. My grandmother was a wonderful healer, mom used to tell me stories of her mother going out to tend to the neighbors. My mother holds the same pedastal in my eyes. She has worked in every imaginable category of nursing, her whole life dedicated to healing. Even now she is a pillar of support. My sister Julie was the fortunate daughter that inherited mom's drive for helping ailing individuals. I thought at one point it was me. Mom used to tell me I had a real talent for observation, and I am working as a home health aide, but I havent anywhere near the talent that Julie has.
Dad is a mechanic, the best in my eyes. This man can fix anything. While searching for the man of my dreams, I looked for someone that was similar to my father, tall, energetic, quietly humorous, sense of adventure, large hands, warm smile, intimidating when he wants to be, with a knack for fixing things... never found him. At least I havent yet. I always joke that they broke the mold after dad was born... men just arent made with his old fashioned sense of family and work.
My mom and dad wanted thirteen kids. Their doctor made them stop after me, number nine. He feared another pregnancy might seriously damage my mother's health, or even kill her. They are both retired now, galavanting across the country in their RV. Mom has a quilting business that she and dad seldomly operate. Their basement is absolutely filled to the brim with sewing paraphanalia, material and the like.
They left this weekend, asking me to come feed the cat and the fish. My apartment is only nine miles away, but my sons and I stayed here anyway. I slept in my father's broken in pajamas, my sons wore his old t-shirts to bed. One of my best friends from childhood came over and we had coffee, watched movies, grew nostalgic. Home still feels like home, even when mom and dad arent in it. When I took my clothes from the drier this morning I was instantly reminded of the happiest times I shared with my family in this life, almost as quickly as the blink of an eye. I remembered everything at once, filling my heart with joy and I actually giggled out loud. |
posted by katmandusuekookachoo @ 11:08 AM  |
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