farmdoc's blog post number 540

I don’t do it often. Sometimes every week. But more likely fortnightly. I’m talking laundry here. Washing clothes. Sheets. Towels. And other dirty stuff. I love doing it [1]. Everything about it: Working out what to wash. Carrying it to the laundry. Loading it into the Asko W640. (It’s a fantastic machine. I hope writing this doesn’t put a hex on it.) Adding laundry powder. (I’m still going on the 1.7kg box of Omo Matic I began using on 26.2.08.) Letting the machine wash it using solar electricity. Carrying the washing to the clothesline. Pegging it out. Letting the sun dry it. Smelling it when it’s dry. Unpegging it. Carrying it in. Folding it. And putting it away. It’s all so satisfying. It don’t know why it excites me so. I know little things please little minds. Except that to my mind laundry’s no little thing. Maybe it’s my propensity to obsessiveness. Or because it’s redemptive in some way: An old guy literally and metaphorically putting his house in order. Cleaning what he’s dirtied. Whatever the reason, it seems its importance to me exceeds the sequence of menial tasks involved. Say what you will. I don’t care. It is what it is to me. And it’s a big deal. Anyway I’m done writing. I did two loads yesterday. And now I must go to the clothesline to check if it’s dry.