Albo P Fossa—January 14, 2022
Facial freedom: remember the good ol’ days?
I recall the first hint. An editorial cartoon showed folks spread apart in a wide circle. They reached toward each other. The caption was “group hug”. Society now bears a new normal decor. Sad, tired eyes rise above plain or decorated masks.
Call me stark.
I wear black socks. I once wore white socks. In sun I wore shorts. We mocked “old men in shorts” …high waist, pale legs in black socks. Now here I am with black socks. No shorts, but I may wear black socks with sandals.
Some of my black socks and undies are black no more. A laundry bleach overdose left a splotchy bronze decor.
More decor: six gifted pairs of socks have it. One set is black but for small print, “ACTIONS > WORDS”. And in one butt pocket is a bandana; in the other, a timely hand-sewn mask.
Decor marks places unwatched—but not unwashed.
Masks are as routine a part of laundry as bandanas and socks: the new normal. I walk or sit on—and launder—them all, decor not noted. Out of sight, out of mind.
Freedom: it may be out of sight, out of mind. Except when it’s gone.