On this cloudy gray and chilly day, I took a chance at sunshine and hung my laundry outdoors. As I pegged my husband’s socks in a row like soft white soldiers, I noticed I was hanging them with their heels all facing the same direction. This brought me back to a time when I was young and single, living free and trying so hard to make a mark on life.
I turned 20 the year I moved to Trinity, and became the middle teacher in a three-room school on the hill. The School Board had found me a boarding house in the community, and I got the biggest bedroom of the three, since I was paying the most rent - $50 per month. I moved in with my Herman Hermits and Monkees records, my What, Me Worry? poster, and my hopes and dreams of teaching all the little 8 and 9 year olds of the town their multiplication tables and world geography.
I soon settled in my new home. The couple who were my landlords would become, in the future, my aunt and uncle by marriage, but long before then Evelyn became my friend. We would play Scat for pennies, and she would drag me to Bingo, which I soon learned to hate. And every now and then, I guess I would help a little around the house.
My sister would probably never believe this, as she knew I would hide in the bathroom whenever there was a chore to be done. (At least that is how she remembers it. I think I may have been a little bit lactose intolerant.) However, I remember one sunny, warm day when Evelyn was doing laundry, I ended up hanging it out for her, and I remember pegging a row of her family’s little white soldiers on the line. However, when I came to the bottom of the basket, I found one lonely single orange sock, all by its lonesome.
I counted the socks on the line, and moved the middle one to an end, so I could peg that little orange sock in the middle. When Evelyn came out, she started to laugh, to see that bright exclamation point surrounded by white. I have no ideas which way the heels were pointing. That didn’t matter to me back then. What mattered was the single little stocking dancing in the breeze.
At that time in my life, the orange stocking and I were very much alike. We were both independent and bright. We didn’t care what anyone said, as long as we could dance and enjoy the dance. In fact, if I remember, I enjoyed being a bit different, pushing the boundaries, and meeting new adventures head on.
The years have passed quickly, bracketed by a married life, and my babies are now adults with their own babies. I hope they find their own adventures to bring them smiles as they grow older. I hope at least once in their lives, they punctuate their clotheslines with an orange sock.
I turned 20 the year I moved to Trinity, and became the middle teacher in a three-room school on the hill. The School Board had found me a boarding house in the community, and I got the biggest bedroom of the three, since I was paying the most rent - $50 per month. I moved in with my Herman Hermits and Monkees records, my What, Me Worry? poster, and my hopes and dreams of teaching all the little 8 and 9 year olds of the town their multiplication tables and world geography.
I soon settled in my new home. The couple who were my landlords would become, in the future, my aunt and uncle by marriage, but long before then Evelyn became my friend. We would play Scat for pennies, and she would drag me to Bingo, which I soon learned to hate. And every now and then, I guess I would help a little around the house.
My sister would probably never believe this, as she knew I would hide in the bathroom whenever there was a chore to be done. (At least that is how she remembers it. I think I may have been a little bit lactose intolerant.) However, I remember one sunny, warm day when Evelyn was doing laundry, I ended up hanging it out for her, and I remember pegging a row of her family’s little white soldiers on the line. However, when I came to the bottom of the basket, I found one lonely single orange sock, all by its lonesome.
I counted the socks on the line, and moved the middle one to an end, so I could peg that little orange sock in the middle. When Evelyn came out, she started to laugh, to see that bright exclamation point surrounded by white. I have no ideas which way the heels were pointing. That didn’t matter to me back then. What mattered was the single little stocking dancing in the breeze.
At that time in my life, the orange stocking and I were very much alike. We were both independent and bright. We didn’t care what anyone said, as long as we could dance and enjoy the dance. In fact, if I remember, I enjoyed being a bit different, pushing the boundaries, and meeting new adventures head on.
The years have passed quickly, bracketed by a married life, and my babies are now adults with their own babies. I hope they find their own adventures to bring them smiles as they grow older. I hope at least once in their lives, they punctuate their clotheslines with an orange sock.
Love it!
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