Wash day

Well it is my day off. I have lots to catch up on task wise, one of the many chores being laundry. (Gee, where is the day off portion to this?) I hang laundry whenever I can. I even have a drying rack for those days when outdoor hanging isn’t possible. I’m a tightwad so I save pennies where I can and a drying rack used for bluejeans is an energy saver both economically and enviromentally and saves wear and tear on the jeans. Again, saving in those same ways.

Back in Wisconsin I used to take this one step further. I used to use a wringer washing machine. In fact I still own it along with the double zinc rinsing tubs. I cannot bring myself to give them up. Poor Bob would love nothing better then to see me part with them so he can regain some garage space. But this is a perfect condition 1945 Maytag. I love anything to do with the 1930’s and 40’s. I somehow feel connected to my dear grandmother who was my hero in life. Can’t the man understand this? If it were a 1945 Ford truck he would understand. Men.

Even for Wisconsin I was considered a bit odd for wanting to use this washer. I don’t understand why. It saved water and energy and the kids fought over who got to help me with laundry. The only fighting these days about laundry is who has to help. They even will say now that laundry then was somehow more satisfying and enjoyable. I agree with them. If there were a way to use it here I would.

I miss my house back in Wisconsin sometimes. Oh, especially the yard. The house was modest, nothing to brag about. I did like having the basement. I had loads of shelves built in down there where I stored all my home canned goods. I was a canning fool. Well I had an enormous garden so I had to be. One portion of the basement is where I did my laundry. I even had lines installed down there for bad weather days. Otherwise. I had lines out back of the house nestled near my raspberry bushes and grapevines. The garden was north of that. I planted the usual veggies every year but I also had asparagus and blackberries in the mix, also the afore mentioned raspberries and grapes that ran the length of the back fence. There were three apple trees, peaches and plums. I also had a slew of perennial flowers planted about the property. I tended to that yard like I tended to my babies. A lot of love went into it.

Moving to Pennsylvania was a bit of a shock to me. Where we live there is nothing but clay and rock. No dark, sweet dirt to dig my hands into at all like back in Wisconsin. Gardening was my sanctuary. The place I could feel God touch my face with gentle breezes and the warmth of the sun. Where creation is still taking place when one stops to pay attention. I still remember the giggles from the kids when they would spot the early spring peas just peaking out of the soil. Everything happened rapid fire after that. That cold plot of dirt would just burst into life. Then there would be so many birds and butterflies flitting about that it had almost a fairytale feel to it. Oh, and when there would be a summer rain. That is when I would rush all the kids to the yard to dance and jump and sing in it.

Okay, maybe the neighbors didn’t think I was odd because of the washing machine.