Wash and fold: a lifetime of laundry...

Did you ever think of your life in terms of laundry? Today it is Monday as I write this, and today is laundry day for me. Monday is a traditional laundry day for many families, maybe so everyone could start the week with clean clothes?

Monday became my laundry day when I came back to Pittsburgh to be with my dad. Saturday is his laundry day, and since I don't have a Monday-Friday job, I didn't really want to do my laundry on Sunday, as I used to do. So Monday became the day, somewhat by default.

When I was a kid, Mom always did the laundry. I wasn't allowed to touch the washer or dryer, but when I was in fourth grade I had my introduction to ironing. Yes, I was born in the 50's so we grew up with ironing as part of daily life. 

What did I learn on? Pillowcases. Pillowcases, and my dad's handkerchiefs. They were flat, small, and relatively easy for a fourth-grader to navigate. Over the years I learned to iron sheets (yep, we did those too!), blouses, jeans, and skirts. Eventually, as I learned how to operate the washer and dryer, the ironing became less and less frequent.

It was college that provided the impetus for me to learn the mysteries of sorting laundry before washing. Things weren't always colorfast in those days, so putting your whites in with your jeans was a quick trip to disaster.

I quickly learned the best way to get my laundry done was to reward myself for doing it - a can of Pepsi and a pack of peanut butter and cheese crackers usually did the trick.

I have to return to ironing for a moment, because I forgot to mention that ironing provided my introduction to the world of soap operas, in the form of The Guiding Light. I didn't really start to follow it until I was in college, and worked with one of the actresses in summer theatre. I also watched All My Children while I watched and fed a young toddler whose mom was having her consciousness raised (it was the mid to late 70's). But I digress...

At this point I'll fast forward through years of conventional laundry, occasional flirtations with laundromats and even when pressed for time, drop-off laundry to what it was like to do laundry at Tassajara.

I've written of Tassajara Zen Mountain Center before, the Buddhist monastery where I lived for three or four years over time. We were off the grid there, and though there was limited electricity, laundry was done by hand.
Yep, we washed our clothes in laundry tubs, used buckets to soak and pre-wash and move them around, dried them as best we could with a genuine wringer (also known as a mangle, which eventually had a special meaning), and then hung them on the line to dry in the sun (and dust).

I gained a healthy respect for our forbears, who did their laundry without electricity or washing machines for a heck of a lot of years. It is hard work!

On the other hand, there is something rather magical about standing over the sink in the early morning mist, listening to the creek bubble over the rocks, and the stellar jays give their raucous calls as you try to wash the dust of Tassajara out of your clothes.

Yes, whites turn gray, and everything dries hard as a board in the fresh air, but it does smell sweet from the fresh air, and it dries incredibly fast in the 105 degree heat in summer.  

I wouldn't want to do it forever, yet it was an unforgettable experience.

Now I find myself back in Pittsburgh, back in the house in which my family has lived since 1967, doing laundry in a place that has a wealth of memories and stairs.

Now I fold the towels in the TV room where all five of us used to scrunch in together to watch movies like How to Steal a Million and McClintock.

Our personal histories are rich with things we take for granted. Dig deep, look at the simplest routines, and find out a little more about your world

Love,

Doc