Laundry Day
And I mean, laundry DAY. I'm a no-garment-left-unwashed kind of girl; I love being able to walk through a house in which the dirty laundry hampers are all empty and the drawers are all full. Today that means five loads - we've been out of town, and the sheets needed cleaning, too.
I've mentioned this before, but I just love doing laundry (as much as one can "love" any chore) because it's something I can "do" while not doing much at all. I can sit at the computer, read a book, play with my kid... all the while, hard at work doing that laundry!
During my first year of college, laundry day was especially nice for me because I had some family friends who let me steal into their house anytime I wanted to use their W/D. Antisocial misfit that I was during those days, I relished the chance to escape the loudness (and screechiness) of the girls' dorms in order to read in silence for a few hours in an empty home. I remember reading the entire books of Ecclesiastes and Song of Solomon during one sitting while doing laundry at that house - the first time I'd ever read an entire book of the Bible at once (not that those are lengthy books, but you know, some of us grew up thinking that you can only possibly read one or two chapters of Scripture at the most in any given day; I'm glad I learned otherwise). It was an older home, and they were a "comfy" family - not a lot of pointy, fancy furniture - just big pillows for their boys and their dog to lounge on, a simple dining room table and chairs, and one of those sink-sink-sink kind of couches. The living room (not where the TV lived, and so not an oft-occupied area of the house - also not furnished by much other than the aforementioned pillows and the occasional Ninja Turtles play tent) was thickly carpeted and had big windows that let in the best afternoon sun. From the floor under one of those windows, I could drift away for hours to the soothing rhythm of the washer-dryer serenade... (One time, I did drift away for hours, literally, and the mom of the house woke me up to see if I wanted to join them for dinner; I quickly apologized and gathered my things so I could get out of their hair and back to my own responsibilities...)
Now that I wash diapers and three times as many clothes, I'm thankful that I don't have to lug it all to another location to do so - in fact, that's been a basic requirement of every place I've lived since college. However, there's something to be said for being stuck in a place that's not your own for an hour or two... like "stolen time," those moments become gifts - time you weren't even allowed to allot to other chores or weighty responsibilities. Time that could only be spent in activities that required no change in venue and relatively little gear. Time for reading, napping, visiting with friends, playing cards, watching Jeopardy - and all without a hint of nagging over whatever else you should be doing. After all, you are busy already; you are doing laundry.
I've mentioned this before, but I just love doing laundry (as much as one can "love" any chore) because it's something I can "do" while not doing much at all. I can sit at the computer, read a book, play with my kid... all the while, hard at work doing that laundry!
During my first year of college, laundry day was especially nice for me because I had some family friends who let me steal into their house anytime I wanted to use their W/D. Antisocial misfit that I was during those days, I relished the chance to escape the loudness (and screechiness) of the girls' dorms in order to read in silence for a few hours in an empty home. I remember reading the entire books of Ecclesiastes and Song of Solomon during one sitting while doing laundry at that house - the first time I'd ever read an entire book of the Bible at once (not that those are lengthy books, but you know, some of us grew up thinking that you can only possibly read one or two chapters of Scripture at the most in any given day; I'm glad I learned otherwise). It was an older home, and they were a "comfy" family - not a lot of pointy, fancy furniture - just big pillows for their boys and their dog to lounge on, a simple dining room table and chairs, and one of those sink-sink-sink kind of couches. The living room (not where the TV lived, and so not an oft-occupied area of the house - also not furnished by much other than the aforementioned pillows and the occasional Ninja Turtles play tent) was thickly carpeted and had big windows that let in the best afternoon sun. From the floor under one of those windows, I could drift away for hours to the soothing rhythm of the washer-dryer serenade... (One time, I did drift away for hours, literally, and the mom of the house woke me up to see if I wanted to join them for dinner; I quickly apologized and gathered my things so I could get out of their hair and back to my own responsibilities...)
Now that I wash diapers and three times as many clothes, I'm thankful that I don't have to lug it all to another location to do so - in fact, that's been a basic requirement of every place I've lived since college. However, there's something to be said for being stuck in a place that's not your own for an hour or two... like "stolen time," those moments become gifts - time you weren't even allowed to allot to other chores or weighty responsibilities. Time that could only be spent in activities that required no change in venue and relatively little gear. Time for reading, napping, visiting with friends, playing cards, watching Jeopardy - and all without a hint of nagging over whatever else you should be doing. After all, you are busy already; you are doing laundry.
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