Can you hand wash dry clean only clothes : How do you dry clean clothes : Cleaning black mold on wood
Can you hand wash dry clean only clothes : How do you dry clean clothes : Cleaning black mold on wood
Can You Hand Wash Dry Clean Only Clothes
- Hand washing for hand hygiene is the act of cleansing the hands with or without the use of water or another liquid, or with the use of soap, for the purpose of removing soil, dirt, and/or microorganisms.
- (Hand Washing) Always wash your hands, before making or eating any food. Use warm water and soap. Rinse under running water, rubbing your hands together. Dry with a clean fresh towel. Anyone who cooks, should do hand washing to prevent the spread of germs and disease.
- handwash: wash or launder by hand instead of with a machine; "This delicate sweater must be handwashed"
- Dry cleaning (or dry-cleaning) is any cleaning process for clothing and textiles using a chemical solvent rather than water. The solvent used is typically tetrachloroethylene (perchloroethylene), abbreviated "perc" in the industry and "dry-cleaning fluid" by the public.
- clean with chemical agents
- Taking actions to determine whether or not you are under surveillance.
- Clean (a garment) with an organic solvent, without using water
- Items worn to cover the body
- apparel: clothing in general; "she was refined in her choice of apparel"; "he always bought his clothes at the same store"; "fastidious about his dress"
- (clothing) a covering designed to be worn on a person's body
- A feature of all modern human societies is the wearing of clothing, a category encompassing a wide variety of materials that cover the body. The primary purpose of clothing is functional, as a protection from the elements.
i left him sleeping because it was time to go to work. he didn't seem to have a care at all, but he's asleep and who of us look like anything when we're sleeping? thing is, he should be worried, he shouldn't be resting. he should be wondering what's goin g to happen tomorrow. but he isn't. not even midnight and he's in that deep sleep he falls into where my shaking him is the only way to get him to rouse. i lace up my boots, grab my jacket on the way out.
no buses run at this hour but it's only four miles away. it's done wonders for my health, this walking to work. been doing it for nearly a year now and my legs have gotten firmer and i've lost some weight. it's not like for real excercise. i don't think any grown man wants to get up every night before midnight and walk four miles to work the graveyard shift at a warehouse. proletariat excecise?
after the first few hours, when we're outside having a smoke during the meal break, a bunch of sit on the loading dock, our legs hanging off the metal lip, and we just talk pure nonsense. i'm not sure why this is what we do, but it's entertaining and sometimes we get to hear one of the younger guys' stories about their weekend trip out of town, and laugh when they laughs because they're looking for some sort of validation. most of us are probably ten years or more older than they are, but we were them back when. no real education and no real skill other than upperbody strength and ability to stay out of serious trouble.
when we get off work, luis and i go to the diner off c avenue and have some bad food for breakfast. he tells me about his daughter getting accustomed to her braces and i tell him my brother-in-law is coming out next week. he says how much he wished he could get a few day shifts next month so he can watch his kids. when the second cups of coffee come, that's when he tells me he thinks he and his wife might lose their house. he says he's behind a few payments and just can't seem to catch up. it's apropos of nothing, and maybe i think he's about to cry and i offer to pay for our bill and he says nothing else about it.
what do you say to a person when he's so despaired? what can you say when you're own situation is as precarious and you really don't care very much about anything else.
i finally get home after a long night and long morning. the apartment is empty and there's fresh coffee brewing and maybe i don't feel like a shower. pour myself some coffee and turn on the morning local news. of course, he's gone. that morning class he has, that's today and the day after tomorrow. honestly, i'm always glad to have the place to myself most of the time. does that make me a bad person? no, it doesn't. i don't think anyone ever imagined themselves being glad they're alone in their house. i think most people like to be home, just relaxing, like i am, in front of the television, with some fresh coffee, with the one they love.
when i take off my shirt, i feel like i'm covered in a film of sweat and dust. whenever i move my arms, it's as if when i was a kid and used to peel dried glue off my hands. i take off my shoes and my socks butnot my jeans. in the bedroom, the bed, unmade, seems like a grand idea. i wish i wanted to see him more. but as the weeks go by, i don't. i listen to the youngsters at work, and i don't want their life, maybe just that little bit of fire they seem to have. i'm sure at one point i did. only, then, when we're in the middle of it. i listen to luis after work and his complaints are the same complaints of someone's father who can't make things work out anymore, and i wonder if that's really where i'm heading. no one ever tells you that when you're young, any of it. is there such a thing as pre-midlife crisis crisis? could be the lack of sleep.
i lay down and the sheets smell like they need changing but i don't want to. it's just warm enough that i don't need any covers. maybe i'm just having a little bit of lack of faith simply because i always thought by the time i reached this point, this wouldn't be it: glad that after work i can come home and sleep on an unmade bed alone. when i'll wake up, maybe i walk to the bar around the corner and have a drink and i'll talk to the waitress who's always flirting with me even after i told her i'm not available (that's what i said; i didn't say i was living with someone), she's around my age and makes me laugh. maybe i'll just stay home and wash clothes and clean. something easy and domestic. or maybe i'll just lay here until i can't anymore. or until he gets home and is wired on whatever topic they discussed in that acting class he goes to. try sleeping through that.
i make it seem like every day is the most terrible day in the universe. it's not. i'm glad i have what i have. everything. but i need more than all this. i'm not satisfied. are you? does that make me greedy? i have what i want, but not what i need. there's a difference. i d
Sisterly Care (6-23-9) #1
Jaina Lefevre is on her side - facing the ladder, back to the wall. She's whimpering in her sleep, fingers curling and flexing against the blankets. Kimani is asleep on the top bunk, on top of the blankets.
Lisbeth Dollinger comes softly up the stairs. She peeps around the corner, searching out the little girl the Father had told her about, and decides it must be the tiny thing whimpering on the bunk. She enters quietly, carrying a small valise, and reaches over to touch the little girl's shoulder. "Jaina?"
Jaina Lefevre jerks awake at the touch with a soft cry. She stares, wide-eyed for a moment, then lets out a huff of breath.
Lisbeth Dollinger's fingers tighten very gently. "It is all right, dearheart." Her speech is soft and soothing. The valise, she puts at the foot of the bed, and she sits on the bed beside Jaina. "I am Sister Lis. Father Eamon asked me to come see you."
Jaina Lefevre ohs and pulls back a little, looking at her. "He said you was a medic person. I didn't thinks you'd be dressed like Sister D." She's bruised and stiff, not moving very much.
Lisbeth Dollinger beams at Jaina. "I am a sister, yes, but I am also a nurse. The church sent me to school to learn. I take care of all the people in the church, and you, if you will let me." She searches Jaina's eyes, her look appraising. "Can you tell me what happened to you?"
Jaina Lefevre wets her lips a little. "Youaysee." she says softly. "I got broked ribs and glue snitches in my head and lotsa cuts and..." her breath catches a little and she whispers. "Another Youaysee tried t'take me from the hopspittle. My friends 'tacked him and saveded me."
Lisbeth Dollinger reaches for her valise. Pulling it into her lap, she unzips it and takes out a penlight. "Follow the light, sweetness," she says softly, clicking it on and using it to track her vision. "The UAC. They have hurt others in this church. Do you know why they tried to take you?"
Jaina Lefevre winces, the light hurts her eyes, but she can follow it. "I dunno. Cause I was really bad?"
Lisbeth Dollinger nods once. Her pupils are consistent with recovery, so she puts the penlight aside. With soft, gentle hands, she touches Jaina's face, turning her head from side to side, smoothing back her pretty hair to look at the tiny cuts. "These are healing," she murmurs, then meets Jaina's eyes. There is sorrow in her own. "Oh, dearest...no. No child is ever so bad as to deserve what was done to you. There are monsters in this world, and far too many wear uniforms." She exhales. "Can you show me what hurts?"
Jaina Lefevre listens to the words, but really doesn't believe them. Not yet anyway. She half rolls to her stomach and pulls up her shirt to show the wrapping on her ribs...and the deep purple bruise that is the back of her body. "Hurts t'breathe.." she offers softly. "And my legs is all tinglies, like they're asleep."
Lisbeth Dollinger draws a sharp breath. She stares at Jaina's purple back, until her vision suddenly blurs with tears and she's forced to wipe her eyes. "May God forgive them," she whispers. "Darling, let me help you sit up." Very gently, she touches Jaina, helping her roll to a sitting position on the bed. "You can lean on me. We are going to take off your shirt, yes? Your ribs are broken, I believe, and they will heal, but you need to be rewrapped."
Jaina Lefevre whimpers a little as she moves, but she can sit up. She leans forward a little and lets Sister help her get the shirt off. Her hair is tousled as it's pulled up, the shaven patch under the long strands is visible - the 'stitched' part. She's healing enough already that the wounds are closed, no seeping...like three days worth of healing in one.
Lisbeth Dollinger sets the shirt aside. With one cool hand on Jaina's small shoulder, she brushes the hair away and inspects the back more closely. Carefully, she frees the bandage and peels it away, and probes with light fingers. "I am sorry," she whispers. "I know it is uncomfortable. How would you like to have a bath, dearest? And something to eat?"
Jaina Lefevre yelps at the probing and then bites her lower lip, muffling the sounds. "Bath sounds good. My hair is all yucky from the bloods and stuff." And bits of leaves and brush still tangled in some parts.
Lisbeth Dollinger nods and leans back. She carefully unwraps the rest of the bandage, and bites back tears of her own. The little girl's back and sides are the colors of an stormy sunset. She is healing surprisingly fast, but not fast enough, and it is with a terrible effort that the sister keeps her anger in check. "Monsters," she whispers again. "Come along, darling. Bath first, then I will cook." She rises and offers Jaina her hand. "I know it hurts to walk
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