Woke up Sunday morning,Hey, that's not how the song goes . . .
washed my tired face
and brushed my hair,
and fumbled through the hangers
for today's public shirt—
carribean party this afternoon
I stumbled down the stairs
with a basket of dirty laundry
from the floor of my closet
where it resides beside hand truck,
mic stand and amp, a film canister
of loonies and quarters in my hand.
It's always a gamble, Sunday mornings no exception, whether someone is already using the machines. Sometimes, if I get distracted by the computer beast or other stuff, I've been leapfrogged two and three times. Have had my wet pulled from the washer and piled on top of someone else wet or dry laundy atop the dryer. More clothes in both machines. A right proper bottleneck. [There's only 12 units in this building. How many people right now I'm not sure . . . but only one washing machine, one dryer, in a room with 13 hot, hot water tanks—one for each apartment + one for the laundry room.] but the congestion can get mighty frustrating.
Oh, I so want a coffee jump start. Not virtual, but actual, physical "Caution! Hot" coffee. Guess I could have one, homestyle. Haven't had any java today. Guess I should walk into the kitchen to flick the kettle switch, add water. I'll be back . . .
"Breaking the Silence" is my house coffee. It's not just a fair trade coffee from Just Us! Coffee Roasters Co-op in Wolfville, Nova Scotia. The Breaking the Silence network here in the Maritime Provinces has, as one of its projects, a sustainability partnership with a small cooperative of coffee farmers in San Lucas Tollman, Guatemala who are members of the CCDA (the Small Farmers’ Committee of the Highlands). It's a great coffee, with really rich aroma and flavour.
I've been to a regional Breaking the Silence conference at the Tatamagouche Centre in Nova Scotia. While there read Nela Rio's poems to share them there because she was elsewhere, poems from Sustaining the Gaze, with Amanda from Guatemala reading Nela's poems in their original Spanish. In Fredericton there are regular Noche Latino fundraisers with great Guatemalan food, a silent auction, and live music to assist everything from school building and student scholarships to worker exchanges, well drilling and more.
No one active yet on Hello (not on mine), one idle and hour who might be washing and drying fabric bought yesterday at the local fabricheaven, for making handbags in her FAA casemate residency this afternoon . . . other "friends" are offline.
Sunday morning sunlight shining beautifully onto the pipe organists open score. Church doors open with today's ushers. It's pre-iron bell-ringing time across the street and my laundry is now in the dryer.
Only simple leapfrog today! I wasn't jumped while waiting to move from washer to dryer. But I leapt over someone inattentive—a girl, to judge by the clothes pulled from the dryer: flannel w/ silver thread pjs, thongs, a little brown t-shirt with "I WANT YOU" on the front and "to talk with me" on the back. The clothes are not warm in the slightest. Must have been put in the dryer yesterday. Trust, or what? Forgetfulness . . . went out . . . sleep? Her clothers still there when I collect mine from the dryer.
No bell ringing this morning. Silent Sunday. Time for me to bike, shower, food, wash dishes, pick up photos at Stupor, celebrate the spinnin' earth . . .
Shirt: Jim Beam golf shirt
temp: 18 C
sound: Shooglenifty, Venus in Tweeds; The Last Waltz movie