Jon has a turn at the blog chain this round. He asks:
Imagine the home(s) where you grew up, and start drawing a floor
plan. As you draw, memories will surface. Grab onto one of those
memories and tell us a story.
I lived in a three-bedroom ranch house for a family of five. So this meant a lot of construction and rearranging of rooms. I shared a room with my older sister, with the bathroom beside our room and the hallway twisting around to my brothers room (whose door faced ours -- if you can imagine it) and the hallway continuing into the backroom.
Since this was a ranch house, we had no basement. This meant the washer and dryer were located in the kitchen beside the stove and chest freezer. So the sounds of of the washer would fill the whole house. A mist of steam coated all the windows, as we would draw funny faces on the surface, watching the drips slide down the pane.
One of the stories of this house I will take from a post I made long ago on my other blog.
The button popped out as the whirling sound
faded along with the clanks and rattles of tossed zippers and clasps. A
blast of heat escaped from the open door. Hot clothes tumbled into the
the one task in the house that we (my sister, brother, and me) helped on
whenever we heard the familiar buzzing sound of the dryer. We became
good laundry folders as we shook out the loose lint, tucked in the
sleeves, rolled - not folded - the towels, and balled up the socks. Then
we dutifully carried the full baskets to our respective bedrooms and
dumped everything into an untidy mess on the floors. The basket flipped
onto its side as we cowered behind our makeshift forts and lobbed soft
mayhem at each other.
Who needed snowballs? It did not even have to be winter to have such
fun. Argyle missiles sailed from one bedroom into another, the checkered
style causing cross-eyed, hypnotic stares as it took confused enemies
(a.k.a. my brother and sister) by complete surprise. Knee highs were
small fast balls able to curve around corners. Holey socks were the best
fun, as we stuck fingers into the toe holes and chucked them with great
strength like a javelin hurler. The sock would swoop through the air,
smack the window or closet behind the enemy, and ricochet back as a
sneak attack from the blind side. Whenever we ran out of socks, we had
to run out into the hallway and gather up the misfired ones. Then we
tried to scramble back to safety, ducking and diving with the balls
aimed at our cheeks.
No, I am not talking about the cheeks on our faces. The other ones.
better, no body part was off-limits - not even our heads. When the
battle ended, we never had to worry about black eyes or missing teeth or
broken limbs. Maybe we might have a little injured pride. Yet revenge
could wait until the next laundry day.
Can you imagine if we fought real wars with socks? We could subdue the foe with cottony softness.
war. Fun for the young and old alike. Children. Spouses. Take a little
time out of your day to toss a sock at someone. Laughter will ensue.
I really shouldn’t have to say this but...the blog owner will not be
held responsible by any misuse of your socks that leads to injury
(splashing your sock into a pot of boiling water), arrest (holding up a
bank using a sock as a weapon), or stupidity (ramming your you-know-what
up your mean boss’s you-know-where). Use some commonsense, folks*
Read Katrina's story from yesterday and check out Eric's home story tomorrow.