Everyday Dose Of Reality
Recently, after a few months of begging on my knees and clinging to my husbands ankle, he put up a clothesline for me. The day it went up I felt liberated from the clothes dryer. Just in time to beat from the surface of the sun heat wave the US is having. Instead of roasting the inside of my house I can now hang my clothing out on the line. Granted the sun all but burns them up while being held by a poor wooden clothes-pin surrounded by licking flames. I recall as a young kid the smell of clothes off the line. This is not the same smell. I mean, I know the smell is based on where you live. For example, if you lived in Hueytown Alabama by the steel foundry and garbage recycling center you get a certain smell. Unlike the fresh scent that flows through the high mountains of Colorado on a crisp morning, you know the scent that laundry soap companies try to capture, “mountain fresh”. Oddly enough for the past week or so, every state in the US pretty much has had the same weather. Meaning all of us clothes-line-hanging people, pretty much acquire the same scent. The only memory the smell triggers is a freshly cleaned oven coming off the broil setting. Just slightly different than grandma’s laundry I remember as a kid.
Removing the clothes from the line is almost similar to moving sheets of plywood. I think the last time I heard clothing crack that loud was when my son fell in the swamp and hid his clothes. Granted my plywood clothes don’t have dehydrated frogs in the pockets, smashed mosquitoes on pant legs or burrs stuck to a shirt. The texture is much the same though. I guess on the good side of the list I could use the clothing on our house renovation. You know when I run out of 2 x 4’s or plywood. Until that moment arrives, it is the fluff cycle on the dryer for me.