{"id":715,"date":"2022-01-08T10:15:49","date_gmt":"2022-01-08T10:15:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/louisalovegallas.com\/?p=715"},"modified":"2022-02-08T00:21:24","modified_gmt":"2022-02-08T00:21:24","slug":"basic-hygiene","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/louisalovegallas.com\/?p=715","title":{"rendered":"Basic Hygiene"},"content":{"rendered":"\n[et_pb_section fb_built=”1″ admin_label=”section” _builder_version=”3.22″ global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_row admin_label=”row” _builder_version=”4.9.0″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_column type=”4_4″ _builder_version=”3.25″ custom_padding=”|||” global_colors_info=”{}” custom_padding__hover=”|||” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][et_pb_text admin_label=”Text” _builder_version=”4.14.7″ background_size=”initial” background_position=”top_left” background_repeat=”repeat” custom_padding=”0px||16px|||” hover_enabled=”0″ global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content” sticky_enabled=”0″]

Basic Hygiene<\/span><\/em>
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\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Our friend Ethel<\/span> always had dirt<\/span><\/p>\n

underneath her fingernails<\/span><\/p>\n

even on Sundays<\/span><\/p>\n

when we went to her house<\/span><\/p>\n

for pie made from strawberries<\/span><\/p>\n

right out of her gar<\/span>den\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

and coffee, well, the grown-ups<\/span><\/p>\n

drank cup after cup<\/span><\/p>\n

while Ethel squeezed me<\/span><\/p>\n

lemonade in a tall blue glass<\/span><\/p>\n

with clouds of ice.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

It was fascinating<\/span><\/p>\n

how Ethel didn\u2019t totally wash up<\/span><\/p>\n

before our visit\u2014I\u2019d sneak looks<\/span><\/p>\n

at her strange hands which I supposed<\/span><\/p>\n

were because Ethel lived in the country<\/span><\/p>\n

and had married a farmer during<\/span><\/p>\n

the Depression\u2014\u201cAbsolutely <\/span><\/p>\n

Salt of the Earth,\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

my Mom would always say<\/span><\/p>\n

as we drove toward Ethel<\/span><\/p>\n

and away from town.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Reddish-brown, like good rock,<\/span><\/p>\n

the backs of Ethel<\/span>\u2019<\/span>s hands made<\/span><\/p>\n

the teacup fingers of city ladies<\/span><\/p>\n

seem pale as slugs.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Dark-blue veins were merging rivers<\/span><\/p>\n

that fed into her torn knuckles<\/span><\/p>\n

full of new scratches and tiny scars.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019d run my eyes along her lined<\/span><\/p>\n

rough fingers until <\/span>there they were,<\/span><\/p>\n

her jagged nails and the dirt beneath<\/span><\/p>\n

which would leave me to wonder<\/span><\/p>\n

about basic hygiene<\/span> <\/span>and the pie,<\/span><\/p>\n

like did she really clean the strawberries<\/span><\/p>\n

or had they gone into the cooking pot<\/span><\/p>\n

with just a little dirt left on them, too?<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I would go home and dream<\/span><\/p>\n

of Ethel\u2019s hands: how life<\/span><\/p>\n

had gross and fertile secrets<\/span><\/p>\n

beyond my Mother\u2019s house<\/span><\/p>\n

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