Weekly Photo Challenge: Red

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My favourite colour is red.

I have a red car. And a red front door. Red cushions. A red wall. Shoes. Bags.

And red clothes. Lots of them. And so do Children of Mine – football kit, socks, school uniform…

So in the machine the red wash goes, and out it comes again. I’ll hang it outside today,  I think to myself, it’s nice and windy, I’ll save on electricity not drying some of it in the tumble dryer and keep everywhere tidy by not having wet washing strung up.

But it was not to be. It was obviously so windy last night that part of a tree has fallen down over the washing line, so I take the basket inside again.

Just one more thing in the Groundhog Day of my life…

Son of Mine was reading to me in the car the other morning and asked me what a lament was. Here’s mine (taught to me as a song years ago by my favourite primary school teacher, Mr John Noon) to share with women (and men) everywhere who face the drudgery of yet another domestic task.

The Housewife’s Lament

One day I was walking, I heard a complaining,
I saw an old woman a picture of doom.
She gazed at the mud on her doorstep, ‘twas raining,
And this was her song as she wielded her broom.

“Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble;
Beauty will fade and riches will flee.
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double,
A
nd nothing is as I would wish it to be.

In March it is mud, it is slush in December.
The mid-summer breezes are loaded with dust.
In Fall the leaves litter, in muddy September,
The wallpaper rots and the candlesticks rust.

Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble;
Beauty will fade and riches will flee.
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double,
A
nd nothing is as I would wish it to be.

It’s sweeping at six and it’s dusting at seven,
It’s victuals at eight, and it’s dishes at nine.
It’s potting and panning from ten to eleven –
We’ve scarce finished breakfast, we’re ready to dine.

Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble;
Beauty will fade and riches will flee.
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double,
A
nd nothing is as I would wish it to be.

One night in my dreams I was stationed forever
On a far little rock in the midst of the sea.
My one chance in life was a ceaseless endeavour
To sweep off the waves as they swept over me.

Oh, life is a toil and love is a trouble;
Beauty will fade and riches will flee.
Pleasures they dwindle and prices they double,
A
nd nothing is as I would wish it to be.

Alas, ‘twas no dream, ahead I behold it.
I see I am hopeless my fate to avert.”
She lay down her broom and her apron she folded.
She lay down and died and was buried in dirt.

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