Betsy Devine: Funny ha-ha and/or funny peculiar

Making trouble today for a better tomorrow…

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Sad news from my washing machine

March 27th, 2004 · No Comments

Years ago, when I lived in California, I bought a dark red beach towel, whose best feature was that it almost matched the velvet upholstery on my elderly couch.*

My dog Marianne used to love to nap on top of that towel, on top of that couch–beginning each nap by digging a hole for herself in imagined dead leaves. (Beach towels stand up to dog-digging better than velvet.)

Not any more. Tonight as I pulled that towel out of the dryer, I realized–Marianne hasn’t slept on the couch in more than a year. Even when I remember to lift her up, she’s no longer at home there.
Once, she used to launch off the edge of the couch like a white fuzzy rocket. Now, she peers over the edge and whimpers, as if the floor is no longer reachable.

I hope that I never get that old–I hope I never get to the point where anxiety and caution are more important than the impulse to do something I really enjoy.

Tonight, I put the clean beach towel into my old dog’s travel cage, the place where she hides when she wants comfort and security. As I did so, I noticed the towel had faded and its edges had frayed. My living room has been much funkier than I realized.

Damn, why can’t the world be more like the rosy-edged picture in my imagination? Marianne, sleeping happily on her towel, thinks that question is stupid–she’s probably right.


*When I was a little kid, that couch belonged to my Victorian “aunts.” It was a dark pink or pale red velvet. When I was twelve, my mother brought that couch to our living room, upholstering it dark green, her favorite color. A few generations of puppies and kittens later, she offered me that couch for my living room. (I had it upholstered in Laura Ashley-ish chintz botanicals.) More puppies and kittens ensued before I got it re-uphostered one final time, in about the same reddish pink I remember from childhood.


I just created a new blog category, “Sister Age,” inspired by the book by MFK Fisher. Because so many of my friend bloggers are younger than I am, I thought I might play your Sacajawea in time, marking out the trail through a human lifespan that I’m discovering for myself.


Tags: Sister Age