Monday, February 9, 2015

Monday, washday

Some things never change: Monday is washday.  No, my parents don't have a drier, preferring the smell of fresh air dried clothes. This makes a lot of sense in summer - at this time of the year it makes for a rather crowded kitchen.  My father chopping up stuff for a salad in the background.    Monday - cold meat (or, as tonight, cold chicken); baked potatoes, salad,  And that, too, has been the same for the last 54 years that my parents have lived in this house.  There's something extremely comforting about it.

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