Towel and Fog

I pulled a towel out of the dryer and with just a whiff of that fresh, clean aroma I was standing in the past with three rows of sheets strung out in the yard. The towel smelled lovely, but it paled in the reminisce of that powerful summer smell of the sun-baked wind-tossed sheets of my childhood. The smell of sheets blasted white and fresh by nature's force. That has to be the truest smell of clean in the world.

Now, hanging your sheets outside on a clothes line is against the law.

I remember when dogs ran loose in a community. They belonged to the family next door, or down the road. Dogs running loose is also, now, against the law.

I remember when my child's car restraint was my elbow. Or when cars were not locked. You got out of your car, shut the door, and walked away even if you were going to be gone for hours. If a storm whipped up while you were gone some kindly person would open the car door and roll up your window to keep the interior from getting wet.

I can remember lots of things that drift into my mind's eye, that relative calm that sits in the center of my brain's hurricane, but that's looking back. Looking back at Fiftieth street, back at childhood, back at the past.

I live life forward. Jeff sent me a birthday card that encouraged me to peddle towards my dreams.

My dreams are now blessedly small: enjoy the day, watch a good movie, read anything, eat something satisfying, take a drive with a friend, or watch the fog that has been hugging my window all morning roll away.

I gaze at my three sons and settle in contentment that they can take care of themselves. They can take care of their own dreams. They are building their own past.

Past, present and future, isn't that life?


I talked to Kathy N eight hours after her gall bladder surgery and she was already bored with taking it easy. With doing nothing. I said I don't know how long I could last doing nothing, that it had never been tested.

Kathy said she talked to Larry's wife and Geni said she was "born to do nothing."

The only exercise I get is tilting my head up or down to find the correct focal of the trifocals glasses.

I watched a weird, Belgium, stop action cartoon called The Town Called Panic. It was weirdly good.

S' long.

Life isn't always a fog free day.