01 May 2012

Finding Comfort in the Rituals and Routines

The palest of pale blue sheets filled the air, blocking out the light overhead, casting a hazy blue glow over the room before it settled down onto the bed. 

I've found my thoughts shifting lately. 

A paradigm shift is probably a more accurate description. 

And instead of getting annoyed at the same tired old chores, I find comfort in the ritual and routine of them. 


We stood on opposite sides of the bed, each pulling and tugging the corners to make the sheet lie nice and flat.

For example, in doing the laundry.

There's comfort indeed in warm, freshly folded laundry. There really is nothing better putting on a pair of socks all nicely warmed from the dryer. Or a clean shirt that smells like your chosen detergent. 

There's ritual in pulling the clothes out of the dryer, folding this, hanging up that, putting this aside to iron, and creating neat piles for putting away in the dresser.

Then another flick of the wrist, another pale blue sheet fluttering in the air before laying down on the bed. 

There's routine in dragging the hamper out the back door, up the stairs, down the walkway, down the next set of stairs into our crappy laundry room twice a week. There's a routine in putting the quarters just so in the "good" machine and knowing exactly when to come back to swap things out. 

He starts wrestling the pillows, one by one, into submission, into creamy yellow pillowcases. Taking care to make sure the tags are covered so they won't scratch our faces in the night. 

There's also a blessing in all of it....we're lucky enough to have enough clothes to warrant doing laundry as often as we do. We're lucky, as much as I complain about it, to have a semi-working laundry room just feet outside our back door instead of a car drive away. There's a blessing in having the money for cleaning our clothes and replacing them when we want instead of when we need.


And as I snap open the sunny yellow blanket, covering the sheets, I ask Joe, "Is there anything better than sleeping on freshly clean sheets?"

Without a pause, he looks up at me, smiles, and answers, "Sleeping on freshly clean sheets cuddled with you."

And suddenly, I don't mind the laundry quite so much. Because of treasured comforts like that. 

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