Our dryer is out I called mom yesterday to ask if it would be ok if I showed up with many bags of laundry and take advantage of her multiple washer - dryer setup. In passing I asked if “my room” was ready for me. I have laid claim to a basement room notable for a new comfy queen sized bed, wired DSL connection and Dishnetwork Satellite TV. “We’re ready for you,” she bubbled. “the sheets are fresh as a pancake.”
(?)
I love my mother with all my heart, but what in the world do sheets that are fresh as a pancake mean? Should I contrast it with stale as a waffle? I tried to get her to clarify but she couldn’t explain. She said, “I don't know why I said that, I don’t even like pancakes.”
Going out to the farm is sort of like curling up on a couch with a good book, putting on fuzzy slippers and playing solitaire in front of a warm fire, or eating home made mashed potatoes and gravy. It provides comfort.
I got out of my car after the long drive out there after work and looked up to see the clear but cold night sky filled with stars and listen to what had to be millions of frogs welcome me to Scappoose.
Seven loads later I finally called it a night. For a few hours anyway. Points for staying up until 1 a.m doing laundry and getting up at 6 a.m to head to Club Deluxe for a workout.
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