I sat beside a woman this morning whose dirty laundry has revealed itself to me. She likely does not know what I know but she is experiencing pain. I don’t know her well enough at all to reach out and say anything regarding the laundry. So instead I show compassion and warmth and humour. I look at her and she is all of us at any given time. She is not bad or deserving. She is not weak or ugly. She is us. And it is her laundry day.
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A friend once told me that of all the things she missed of her old married life – one of the most profound things was pulling into the driveway alone in the darkness with a car full of stuff to unload alone.
I am well used to this and have a few teenagers to help so this means little to me these days.
However, I was downhill skiing on the weekend with my old ski boots which I have not worn I guess since I was married. Skiing was something I gave up along with long silences, being alone together, lack of trust and celibacy. Mostly good.
I pretty much forgot that I was talked into racing boots, even thought I don’t race. They fit my feet like a pair of jeans that would be too intimate to wear. My ex husband used to pry open the boot on one knee as I wiggled my foot out almost breaking it in the process.
After skiing all day I went to take my boots off and there was nobody around me except for a guy just to my right. I tried hard to take off the boots myself but just couldn’t until he offered to help.
There down on one knee laughing hard with me and pulling and prying and his wife walks in.
OOOOPS. Not happy.
I either need new boots or a new husband.