CHORES
A cool breeze blew through the backyard stirring up the first fallen leaves of autumn. There was a hint of dampness in the air and an undertone of sweet decay, an allusion to the coming of winter.
Erma removed a shirt from the clothesline and folded it deftly against her bosom; a tight, precise, mechanical motion. She swung the line around and removed another shirt, repeating the same motions and placing the folded garment on top of the others in the hamper by her feet.
A bird trilled softly from the distant trees and she glanced towards the sound. A pair of squirrels bounded playfully across the yard, but the bird remained hidden in the shady limbs of the trees that lined the back of her yard.
Eyes locked firmly on the squirrels, Erma removed a pair of socks from the tine, and balled them inward, dropping them instinctively into the hamper.
There is something soothing about the mundane processes of life, the transcendental state that can be attained so easily through daily chores. A sudsy sink full of dishes, stretching a broom into dusty corners, folding laundry; these were life’s true great escapes.
People who sought refuge in movies, books, or exotic vacations had always seemed like unhappy people to Erma. Why would they need to escape their lives if they were truly content with what they had achieved?
Erma was happily married. She had two great children. She had a roof over her head and food in the cupboards. What was there to escape from?
To some people, life was a chore. To Erma, life was chores, and she couldn’t ask for anything else. Erma balled a final pair of socks, the last on the line, and bent to pick up the hamper.
Surveying the yard one last time, Erma smiled, content in another job well done. She took a minute to smell the hanging flowers that her husband had given her for their anniversary that summer, then retreated into the comfort of their home.
She wanted to bake some fresh cookies before the kids got home, and get dinner started. Yes, that would be nice indeed.
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