Monday, February 4, 2013

Fallen Leaves and Bleeding Hands

Otherwise entitled "What happens when your washer breaks upon an Arizonan January." 

My washing machine has decided to take a vacation, apparently.  Now, the typical human being might call up the nearest laundry joint and sit for a few hours reading a magazine whilst their clothes clean themselves.  I've never been the typical kind of person.  I have a sink, water, soap and two hands.  Enough said. 

And right at the same time, it is February in Arizona, and we all know what that means.  Actually, most people have no idea what that means but when you have an orchard of 49 trees and the leaves in Arizona like to trickle their way off their branches sometime in January, you begin to get the idea that it is manual labor time. 

I appreciate all the sympathetic groans I'm hearing from my very kind readers, but not to worry.  I actually enjoy the change.  I have never been one to walk away from this kind of an adventure and as I have been raking leaves and wringing clothes it has been a wonderful opportunity to commune with the past.  I'm a pioneer crossing the plains, wringing out shirt after shirt.  My mind travels back to my ancestry in Mexico who had so little but did so much with it.  The main thing they had was endurance.  At least I don't have to go to the well to pump the water to wash the clothes.  It lends you the opportunity to prioritize in those quiet, clothes scrubbing moments.  Did I really have to go all over town on errand after meaningless errand?  Not really.  Did I really have to go to that one place that I thought was so very important?  No.  Did I have to check facebook every five seconds?  Please, no. Life becomes much less stressful and far simpler when your focus is rinsing suds out of denim jeans.  The denim is what cuts into your hands and makes them bleed a little.  No problem.  How much more did so many others have to go through in their lifetime?  How much calmer were they because their life revolved around faith and labor rather than the constant, empty, technological blithering that so often commands most of our time today?  I'm going to enjoy this moment while it lasts.  And it won't last long because the repair guy is scheduled for Thursday.    

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