There’s something about doing laundry that I really enjoy. There’s an art to it, yet once mastered it requires little thought and when done you can still feel like you’ve accomplished something great.
My memories of doing laundry go back to very early childhood, and a few of those memories were stirred last night as I was removing some clothes that I’d hung up to dry on my old but sturdy drying rack. I’ve had it since I was 18 and went off to college, so its a bit old now though it doesn’t show it. I swear this is the best drying rack ever made.
But I digress.
I was removing some clothes that were dry. I use my drying rack for anything pricey with spandex in it, underwear, and other things that don’t have a very good relationship with the dryer. But normally I don’t use it for t-shirts or things that I really want to be soft.. like towels. But I’m trying to be more economical now, so I’m hanging more things on the rack like I used to do in college. I hardly ever used a clothes dryer back then.
Well this story is taking a lot longer than I thought. Are you bored yet? ok fine.
I take off a t-shirt from the rack, and I start to fold it. It’s not solid crisp, but its a little stiff making it easy to fold. Then the memories unfold of my childhood and my mother teaching me how to hang clothes outside. I smiled at the thought of the clothes pins. I always liked to use twice as many pins as my mother deemed necessary. She knew exactly how many pins were needed for every piece of clothing and how to make pins do double duty.
Finding myself nostalgic, I placed the folded t-shirt to my nose and inhaled in. It was probably my imagination but it smelled like fresh breezes.
I finished removing all the clothes from the rack, took a short breath of accomplishment upon seeing the rack empty, folded it, and put it away.
I looked at the neatly folded stack of clothes with a sense of pride, and of a job well done.
This is why I like doing laundry… that sense of doing something well. (Seriously I’ve amazed people with my ability to fold.)
But looking around my apartment, I notice that I don’t get that pride and joy from any other cleaning task. Everything else feels like work.. slave labor.
Now only to find someone who feels about dishes the way I feel about laundry. I’ll do yours, if you do mine.