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©March 2006

Carol Jane Remsburg





Talking in Harmony








Do you talk to yourself?  Don't be ashamed, I do it all the time.  Further, I don't just talk to myself, I talk to inanimate objects, animate objects, and forces of nature as well.  Okay, so pets can't speak human talk but they do talk.  But when it comes down to hollering at forces of nature, well, that little room with the lock on it, bars on the window, and the soft music piped in and nothing in the room that can hurt me save the sheets on the bed…well, perhaps that's another dream.


The next question, and it always follows, do you "answer yourself?"  Well if you are going to ask the question, it would be pretty stupid if you didn't answer it.  Whaddya want, that poor old question to sit out there in limbo like a lost soul?  Geez!  We learned this well before Kindergarten, if somebody asks you a question, you had better be ready to answer it even if you have to give the universal, "I don't know," answer.


Today was yet another fine example of talking to ones self, or perhaps, speaking to something that can't speak in human terms.  I didn't say it couldn't speak, please allow me to qualify that, because it certainly can, and often does.  What am I rattling on about?  The WIND, of course, you silly.


I have issues with the wind.  I love it, I hate it, I battle with it every chance I get.  Why?  Ask you?  Because I'm one of those few dinosaurs who will still line dry my clothes, sheets, towels, blankets, and everything I can wash in the washer and hang out, and some that even have to be washed in the tub.


For the last two weekends the temperatures have risen above freezing.  Also, for the last two weeks, the winds have blown at gale force.  Um, it's March, should one expect anything less?  No.  For the last two weeks I've spent both Saturday and Sunday working the washer and working the line.  The clothesline can be a cruel and bitter place, and if you aren't careful, a hem of a blue jean can snap smartly enough to take out an eye, or at the very least leave a bruise.


Yeah, yeah, laugh if is to your want, for those who only use a dryer.  Line drying is a fine art handed down from mother to daughter.  Even in freezing temperatures, the clothes go out.  This morning was no exception, at 7:30 AM, it was 31 degrees, and the wind was just building again.  It has been howling since Friday morning.


Last week was the week I resolved my clothespin bag aggravation.  The cure is still currently working and I'm so happy with that hideous little creation.  Little things that work can make me SO HAPPY. 


Still, yesterday was every pair of jeans and sweatshirt in the house that went out, along with towels, there's always towels.  Today was for bed linens from sheets to blankets to comforters, and more towels.  For the sockes and undies, I caved to the dryer.


But there is ONE thing, one thing I put on the line that is wicked.  It's the woven blanket I wash weekly that goes on my bed.  It's made of thick cotton and will snap, flick, and bite if it gets a chance to when the winds are wild.  Even attempting to use two lines to hang it is tantamount to taking your life in your own hands…along with about 30 pins to anchor it so it won't blow away—and yes, this DOES happen Virginia.  Not only is there a Santa Claus but there is also a wicked Northwest Wind who will come to haunt you.


The entire time at the line, it's snapping and flicking and biting, a thing with teeth or worse—and I start talking, to the blanket and to the wind.


With the wind, you can hear it coming.  It's building, making, pushing everything else aside, and you know you've got about 10-15 seconds at best to get those pins in place.


"Oh, No!  Don't you DARE!"  And it comes anyway, ripping the cloth from your grasp, even when you are expecting the pull and yank, if you are quick enough, the linens don't hit the ground and you don't have to wash them again.


It's almost like driving in traffic, you can see an accident before it happens, only in real time, "No, don't, Omigod!"


In seconds, it's over.  If someone hasn't already pulled over, you do to offer assistance.


Then there's the mundane.  It's not battling the forces of nature or a roadway drama, it's just work or anything else.  "This is so dumb…" the lament begins.


Then comes the answer, "Yeah, it sure it.  Know it'll continue.  Suck it up, fix it, and move on."


"Yeah, I know it's dumb but…"


The answer comes immediately


"Shut up, put on your big girl panties and deal with it.  It's life.  Life isn't fair, it never was and nobody promised you it would be."


Having conversations with yourself on this level usually means the men in the white coats aren't far away.  However, I LIKE these little conversations.  They are real and honest, more than those we often have with real people, those who have agendas.  The one who is answering you doesn't care about agendas, just honesty.


So the next time you have one of those little conversations with yourself, know you are already in good company.  Moreover, often that voice has good advice.  Open up your ears and listen.



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