Frozen Bloomers and Silver Buckets

When I was a little girl my mother would hang clothes out on the line to dry. Even when we stepped into the world of ancient technology and bought an electric dryer, she still used the clothesline because she liked the smell. Sometimes we'd end up with grasshoppers in our shorts, but other than that it was quite nice.  And in the springtime, the smell of summer was better than any manufactured dryer sheet on the market today. But I hated laundry day, which was everyday in our house because there were so many of us.  Hanging bedsheets and long-legged flannels took two people to get it right; one to hold an end and the other to maneuver the pin basket, unless you were skilled enough to hold the pin in your mouth, which I saw my mother do many times. I tried it once and got a splinter in my lip. Those were not the days.   But it made for some rather fiery arguments between my brother and me, who hated clothes hanging even more than I did.

The line was so high that I had to stand on a silver bucket to take down the clothes. I'd look down and think, "One day I'll be a real Queen with a real silver crown and not just a basketful of stiff undies and hankies." I hated that job. And I always managed to spill the wicker laundry basket full of daddy's jeans in the yard before we made it back to the backdoor. My mother would be waiting with the steam iron sizzling hot, ready to press shirts and de-wrinkle my skirts. "You spilled them again?" she'd asked, the smartmouth in my head thinking then don't send a short puny girl to get them!! but I never said it. I usually confessed right away. It was hard to hide green grass stains on white pillowcases. But so nice to have freshly pressed linens on my bed.
 

One day I looked out in the dead of winter to see a full clothesline of diapers on the line.
Frozen.


Today when my clothes dryer broke, I thought of those crazy looking little brother and sister cloth diapers hanging around for all to see, lined up in a neat row announcing There Are Babies In This House. I probably wouldn't be writing a post about such things had my penchant for divisible-by-3 mini disasters not reared its ugly head this week. First the dishwasher. Tuesday night the stove. And this morning the clothes dryer. All bit the dust.  I am so blessed!!!

Well, there are worse things. It could have been my hair dryer.
I will not be hanging my pencil bloomers on any such ancient contraptions for all the rabid squirrels and google satellites to see. It's a lucky day for repairmen in my town. I'll just wait until they get here if you don't mind.   I don't want to cause an international incident.


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