Posts tagged ‘Cleanliness’
THE GREAT ESCAPE
THEY BROKE OUT OF THEIR AREA AND INTO MINE!
LITTLE-BIT MADE HERSELF AT HOME
on my velvet bedspread!
AND THEN I HAD TO CATCH HER
My Cotons live in a large, tiled area that is the size of my first apartment. They are allowed to come with us to the rest of the house -except for my bedroom. I just wanted one area that was an island of serenity and cleanliness. Fur-free, so to speak.
The problem started when I decided to take a nap. God forbid.
They whined and cried at the doggy gate and then decided to body slam the double doors into the dining room. Since they had done that before, there were rubber bands wrapped around the handles. “No hill for a stepper.” as Himself says. BAM! The doors slammed into the walls. Patter, patter, patter of happy little feet headed my way.
I sat up drowsily to see to fuzzy, white, bouncing balls trying to leap up onto my high bed. I jumped up yelling, “Sit! Stay!” but not before grabbing my cell to take pictures because they are just so darn cute. B.B., for the first time in her life, sat and stayed. She tilted her head and looked at me as if to say, “This is gonna be good.”
Little-Bit scratched my bedspread, circled and made a little nest for herself. It seemed as if she was laughing at me as I chased her around the room and she kept going back to her nest like it was home base.
Finally, I was able to catch her with her head stuck under the bed and her butt stuck up in the air. Her tail was wagging away like a plume of white feathers. She thought that if she couldn’t see me then I couldn’t see her.
The funny thing is that she used to be able to wiggle under that bed. Not any more…
CLEANLINESS AND GODLINESS
I have a memory so vivid that I can hold it in my hand like a black and white photo.
I was about eight years old and being driven to summer camp by a friend’s mother. Several sweaty little girls in a station wagon full of gear.
We passed three shacks on the edge of a green field by the side of a farm road. Weathered boards. Dirt yards. Rusty pickup.
And sitting on the edge of one of the porches, their hands folded in their laps and dangling their bare feet were three dark little girls wearing three spotless white dresses. Starched and ironed to immaculate perfection. Each ruffle standing out like the petal of a flower. Their faces were scrubbed until they were shiny. In their hair (which was braided so tightly that I doubt they could blink) each had perfect satin bows. Every child had a different pastel color. One had pink, one blue and the smallest had yellow.
They sat there. Keeping clean for church. Smiling. Chatting. Waving at passing cars.
I thought they looked like angels with butterflies dancing around their heads. Pink. Blue. Yellow.
“No matter how poor you are, you can always buy soap.” said the mother as she waved back.
This has stayed in my mind like a deckle edged snapshot with the bows tinted in. Pink. Blue. Yellow.
That family had no money but those children were not poor.
