|Don't let her fool you, she turned |
her head to hide her smile!
This morning after numerous attempts to get me to go walk, you see it was raining here in Palm Springs; I tried and tried to get my dog Maggie to go pee in our new backyard. She was not amused. In fact she was relentless. So after several hours of staring me down despite several exiles into the backyard rain, loudly sighing, then finally half climbing on the bed to get her point across, I crawled out of my nice warm bed and got clothes on. Now I was sighing. Really? We have to go out in the rain?
Yes, I can hear you all now. Palm Springs is in the desert. It doesn't rain in the desert. Well, yes, Palm Springs IS in the desert and yes, it CAN rain here. In fact rain is so rare no one can actually drive in it. I haven't had the news on today but I am sure there are more than a few rescues underway as foolish people still manage to drive through flooded low spots in the road and discover, yet again, that stream of water they saw covering the road really was a temporary river and it will stall your car and you may float away. Ask the rescue people. Or watch the evening news. They'll be on there!
But I digress.
Why is it that you never find that missing sock? I mean it came from the same drawer. You wore the "pair" one whole day. Then they both were put in the laundry basket to be washed. You wash and well, one, at least one, seems to come up missing! In fact, just about after every wash.
Why do they run away? I pondered this as we slopped through the puddles getting my shoes and socks wet. Do socks like to get wet? Wet and in wet and smelly shoes?
|Wet and socked in those smelly old shoes.|
Or are socks tired of being worn all the time. Worn in a dark, smelly shoe and then after the day is over put in a dark laundry basket and at some time, all smelly by now, washed, helplessly drowned and tossed about in soap and water and when finally clean then, the supreme disgrace, thrown in with all the other, wet clothes and tossed about in the heat of a dryer. Once dry, they are folded together (I grab whatever running socks look alike and fold together, sisters or brothers alike), stuck again in a dark drawer awaiting another adventure in those old smelly shoes. No wonder they yearn to breathe free.
Well, that is my take on the story. To tell the truth, can you blame them?
Now the dilemma is how to prevent their escape? How do we entice them to stay until finally, all filled with holes they are put out to pasture ... in a smelly old dump. Ah, the poor life of a sock. Maybe they are right, running away is the best option!
Thank you for reading my blog. I invite you to take the time to read earlier blogs where the emphasis here is to explore the ways art and design affects our daily lives ... and always have. Comments are always welcomed!