Lines

Thing2 is chattering happily about his latest superhero discovery.  I’m trying to keep the sorted piles of laundry on the couch from ending up right back in the hamper again as he demonstrates his version of the Spiderman perch.  Everything begins and ends with these piles.

I don’t know why I let the folding pile get so big, but it usually takes an event to get it all folded and put away in one sitting.  This week it’s the impending arrival of our Thanksgiving crowd.  One of my guest rooms doubles as our indoor laundry hanging area, and I need it cleared and ready (along with the other cleaning) before the mad rush of cutting and cooking begins.

Somewhere in this, I’ve committed myself to two posts a day, figuring if I can maintain my quota during the one time of the year when I clean on a daily basis, I will have broken through some literary ceiling I can’t see.  Unlike the laundry, the writing will hopefully be a ray, each met goal a point on a rising line.

But to follow that ray; to clean and cook, first the piles must be sorted and folded and put away.  And when the crowds disperse after the celebration, I’ll travel the next segment on the infinite laundry line, hoping the ray that runs beside it stays close enough to let me travel both.

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