"Whose sock is this�?"
�"She looked up as if through a mist, visions of white landscape
speckled with dark colors greeted her gaze. There seemed to
be a feeling of deja vu, as if this very scene had occurred
many times before. A visual survey of her surroundings led to
a sigh of relief-only two casualties this time"�
Could this be a new mysterious novella in the making� or
perhaps merely a date with a pile of laundry at the Adelsman
household where two unmatched socks remain when all is said
and done? Well, sometimes it helps to try to find a little
excitement in the mundane tasks that we all have to manage
in order to keep ourselves and our families walking about
in some semblance of cleanliness. Yesterday, my son's empty
sock drawer alarm went off and reminded me that it was time
to fold and put away a large pile of clean (and now, slightly
wrinkled) clothes that had only made it as far as the exit
from the dryer door. It's amazing how long we'll try to get
by, now and then plucking a shirt from the top of the pile.
Matching socks, however, requires a little more of a concerted
effort, especially when his are the smallest items in the
basket. And so, I felt compelled to finally fold and put away
some clothing before someone else's supply of socks or undies
reached rock-bottom.
It may seem a bit of a stretch at first blush to link folding
laundry with a jaunt down the ski trail, but there are actually
a few themes that emerge upon closer inspection of the task
at hand. In truth, the items that we nonchalantly fold or
stack in various ways represent a visual review of the previous
week or so. A particular T-shirt may remind you of the jog
on Tuesday, and maybe those mud-stained socks didn't quite
return to sparkling whiteness following exposure to the puddles
while hiking on Thursday. I've never quite figured out how
they manage those miraculous transformations on the TV commercials�
Many of our clothing items carry an even deeper visual history:
one T-shirt, for example, continues to display the ground-in
dirt from a personal get-together between Bruce, his mountain
bike, and the ground earlier this summer. A pair of my old
warm-up pants also bears a permanent scar from a sledding
accident many years ago-an attractive makeshift patch right
in the seat of the pants serves as a useful reminder to not
wear one's favorite ski wear on sledding outings.
Of course, in our house there are also the normal myriad
of juice-stained little boy shirts, and jeans that sneak through
the wash with some mystery item or other still in a pocket.
There does seem to be a direct correlation between the distinctive
smell of chocolate on Owen's shirts and the recent Halloween
frenzy. However, the workout clothing arguably contributes
on a much larger scale to the weekly laundry labor. I should
probably be grateful that most of it does at least find it's
way to the laundry pile, since we can all probably speak to
the powerful aroma of articles of exercise clothing and warmups
that could practically stand by themselves.
The deja vu that I experience during each of these laundry
stints is a reflection of the creatures of habit that we are:
we like to wear the same stuff over and over again. With three
full drawers of T-shirts (not to mention the additional supply
in storage boxes), we continue to wear and recycle the same
20 or so old favorites. Of course, these change somewhat according
to season: short-sleeve vs. long-sleeve for obvious reasons.
Other favorites fall into the lineup because they are just
the right length for tucking into a pair of shorts or tights
without a lot of bulk. Another subset is popular for the opposite
reason-they are just long enough to cover the rear of lycra
shorts that have seen better days. Then, of course, there
are the shirts that merely remain favorites based on the neat
logos, catchy phrases, or favorite events that they represent.
Basically, we seem to have some subconscious rating system
that places our shirts in categories of those that look great,
feel great, or perhaps have a proven reputation during previous
wear. Rifling through the piles on any given day, we somehow
use this mysterious logic to make our particular selection.
More amazing is the fact that we continue to love and wear
these selected elite despite rips, loose seams, ground-in
dirt, and threadbare status.
The same favoritism tends to be applied to other pieces
of clothing as well-we search through a pile of 30 pair of
athletic socks for our favorites, for example. I have even
on occasion--dare I confess--worn my favorite running socks
just meandering about the house, because they are so superior
in comfort to my everyday wear. I, for one, also try to ensure
that undergarments are chosen on the basis that I am pretty
sure they will stay put during a workout-no further detail
required, here. I imagine there are those out there who would
'fess up that they even have their lucky race undies, socks,
long underwear, etc. This is sometimes just as important (at
least mentally) as the ski suit, hat, or gloves on the exterior.
I would have to raise my hand on this one: I used to wear
a certain pair of thin socks over my regular ski socks at
every race in the olden days before high-cuff boots came on
the scene.
My hope is that over the next few weeks I will begin to
see a lot more long-sleeved shirts ending up in the pile of
clothes waiting patiently to be folded and put away. As we
all wait for the first news of decent snowfall, rest assured
that there will be a convenient stack of clothing in a laundry
basket somewhere in my house to accommodate our exercise requirements.
And until then, each adventure into the heap of socks and
T-shirts can bring back a brief recall of the immense mileage
I've racked up that week. Well, maybe that's a little bit
exaggerated, but at the very least I can always hope that
I may discover the missing sock mates from the previous laundry
adventure.
|
Margaret is married to Bruce Adelsman, and they have two young boys
who hopefully will be future cross-country skiers. She skied competitively
at Bemidji High School and Bemidji State University during the 1980's,
and then in some citizen races in the early 1990's while in graduate
school. She hopes to share new commentaries on a periodic basis
related to various aspects of life as a cross-country skier.