A side porch in North Carolina is where I borrowed the ancient washing machine and abandoned materials. The weathered siding came from a garage in Tennessee. Together they hint at a time before everything was electric, fast and disposable.Sometimes taking a step backward isn’t wrong. My memories of my grandmother spending all morning with a wringer washer and hanging the clothes on a double line across her front yard are strong. My job was to capture the errant clothespins and corral them in a pouch that waved in the breeze.. The kitchen smelled from warm soapy water and the scent of the clothes was a blend of sunshine and zinnias. Detergents and fabric softeners can’t compete with the memory.
Tag Archives: grandmother
Swaying on the porch swing at my grandmother’s house is one of my favorite summer memories.A breeze would drift through and it was cool in the shade. The pillows arranged comfortably and a glass of sweet iced tea with so much lemon that it could almost be called lemonade at my side, I could read or play contentedly. Until my cousins arrived……….
Wrapped in tissue paper memories
Grandma’s dancing shoes
Napped on the top shelf of her closet.
The silk slippers with pearl buttons,
Remnants of another life,
No longer fit her knobbed feet
and twisted toes.
On laundry days,
Trapped in mid-flight with their tails dangling,
Competed with the zinnias for attention.
While her house dresses,
gay paper lanterns fluttering in the breeze,
made the garden ready for a party.
When the washing was hung,
Grandma danced barefoot
on the grass.