text: In the basket contained wet red cotton shorts, two black leggings pilling on the crutch, a wool blend navy jumper included in a laundry bag, nickers with various patterns and a pink dressing gown with faded coffee stains and cigarette holes. Each was lifted and left to dry in the Australian winter sun. We had had long, cold nights, westerly winds, and the adaptation was to catch the warmest part of the day and when the sun would air dry the garments. Australia has a unique washing line called the Hills hoist. Although the company closed their doors recently, most back yards still have one. The hoist is a square apparatus, made square by the outline of wires or lines. It can be heightened and locked in place with a handle within the centre of the device. Most times, the lines are not locked, and the square rotates, catching the sun and breeze. The hoist has been a play pen for generations of Australian children swinging and spinning like a merry go round, leaving it with a lopsided closer to the ground and the opposite, a high side well above stretched arms upwatds, harder to be reached. Usually, the words, "Wait till your father gets home," are exclaimed with satisfied children peering out windows at their the played, ellipsed empty spin of their vacant household tool. The red shorts had red plastic pegs to match. The pink dressing gown had four pink plastic pegsto match; two to hold up the shoulders and one each side to stretch out the sleeves. The black leggings had spliiting wood pegs and springs that would bust to be dismantled properly sorted for recycling bin. The patterned knickers were also hung, each with two matching pegs, the most prominent colour in their pattern. Kristina had read that placing clothes in an upright position, the way they were normally worn on the body gave positive energy and good luck. Hanging them upside-down drained the clothes of luck and made them negative. Sort of like a horseshoe mentality about luck. All the clothes were in their correct category. The dressing gown with the underwear. The daywear with the daywear. The jumper laid on a towell draped over a plastic accordion airdryer, so it did not stretch. Christine's ducks were lined up for the day. It was 10 am, the right time to grab the sun, and the kettle boiled. Matt smiled and kissed her on the crown of her head. As she drank tea and relaxed, scrolling thru her social media, Matt swiftly went to the back door, saying, "Going to the shed to find that screwdriver I'm looking for Darl!" Kris smelt his double layered cologne, the matching hair/condition liquid, the skin cream, and spray on deodorant he said he had bought at a discount. Christine yelled, "Exploring your feminine side? You smell like a pheromone factory." He laughed out, "Ha ha Kristine Angela Murphy " The shed door swung open with a well intended bang. Matt wanted Kristine to think he was doing his usual. Playing coy, he walked to the Hills hoist, avoiding the kitchen window quickly, which had clear view of his actions. He photographs a long shot of the clothes, a closer category of the clothes and finally the individual items with their matching coloured pegs. Each pic he edits first by cropping them so the subject of stuff is apparent and then colour enhancing the individual clothing so their actors, the pegs, stood out. Back in the shed, Going posted to Facebook page. He posted the pictures together on one post in a column formation, with no caption, to his family and friends. He grabbed his screwdriver triumphantly, returning to Kristine, "Oh, look, I found it." "That's good honey, we really need that leg tightened on that Ottoman, glad you can do it today!" He yawns a well thought out yawn, stetching like fern frond, rolling, exaggerating, looking in total control. "You know love, I will make a coffee and relax first" "That's OK, I've noticed you've been more active lately. As the kettle boiled, Matt half smiled as his phone pinging repeatedly. Stretching again very slowly into his reclining chair, he tapped his message alerts to feeling smug and delighted. From his sister, "I always knew she was a nutcase!" From his best friend, John, "Someone needs to put a bullet thru her head and save humanity of her!" Then came the potential hens shuffling before the strong rooster, "She has mental health issues. She's crazy. "Oh Matt, just throw her out of the house" "She's no good for you, I can come over when she's out... smiley faces, heart, smile wink emojis. Matt had never acaccepted Kristine's Facebook friends request. That hurt Christine, and she ask him once only Why and he erupted him declaring, "Everyone needed their own space and he was one of the reasons. Dealing with her confused mind all day everyday was too much" Kristine felt awkward around his family. They could be very dominating to her, and she felt uncomfortable. His friends seemed no better, so she would quietly say, "I need rest, you know, my mental health issues and I just need time," avoiding loud talk, football on the TV, and feeling an outcast. Work appeared on her phone call. Christine answered, "Yes, I can be available for another shift, I feel smashed, but since ppl are sick, I guess it's best I show up." She dragged herself to the shower and wore a neatly hang dress in the wardrobe followed by leggings for warmth. Her older age of 50 years seemed to allow her bones to feel the cold more. Round her neck she placed a knitted scarf, like a hypnotised snake it coiled tightly at her throat and lost all muscle response at its head and tail. Sometimes she would help it slither over her mouth, almost gag her speech, as frigid air clogged her lungs to be stopped with wooden fibres Questions ran through her head like, would she return to two towells in the bathroom again? Would she find an unexplained bottle of mascara on her vanity again? Would she see long brown hairs tangled on a pillow of static in the loungeroom when she only had shoulder length blonde hair? Kristine had tried to ask Matt the various questions still in her mind today, to have her medication increased by the doctor. Matt's heavy depression was ignored and he would over indulge himself about her mental health with her doctor talking of his own needs the whole session. "R U WELL", he texted to her that day at work? Christine did not reply, she was far too busy. She knew to have her meds when she got home, stay quiet and sleep it off so she had energy for tomorrow. Kristine cleaned herself with a late night shower. Her clothes in a heavy mess on the tiles and she took them to the washing machine lid was closed. Opening, she saw the double beds twisted wet sheets, pillow cases and doona cover. Returning to the bathroom, she wiped the misty mirror with her hand leaving a large oval of clear with droplets of water forming on its circumference. She wrote with her red lipstick, "Today is always a new day." Below, she wrote with her purple lipstick, "Slow and steady wins the race!" Below that she wrote with her pink lipstick, "It's ok not to be ok!" Later that nite Matt unable to sleep wanders to the tiolet. In the kitchen he could be heard by Kristine pulling the ring on a beer can, as fizzy drinks have a bigger popping sound from the gas. He walked into the bathroom, with his phone. Kristine could here the camera sounds, knowing he would photograph her outburst and listening carefully as he fiddled on his phone to be followed by bell alerts were he sniggered. She went back to sleep peacefully in the eye of the storm.