Nikki is the sole Laundry Technician at our household. For some strange reason, I am not allowed to operate the actual washing machine or the dryer. Something about not doing it right, shrinking clothes, etc. This arrangement has placed a considerable burden on Nikki though, since 5 humans can generate a truly stupendous amount of laundry in the course of a day. Well, actually the laundry creation is rather skewed towards a certain demographic, I won’t elaborate, but let’s just say that frequent wardrobe changes in the course of a single day aren’t uncommon, sometimes even during commercial breaks on Hannah Montana. There, that should leave just enough doubt to protect the names of those involved….
Anyway, laundry generation aside, Nikki has been doing her part to reduce our considerable electricity bill by hanging the laundry outside to dry. This makes a lot of sense for the environment too, something we do our best to pay attention to.
The environment doesn’t always appreciate these efforts however, and often seems to take perverse delight in making this undertaking very very hard some days. For instance, why would Mother Nature seemingly rain only at the very moment Nikki is thinking of going to get the now dry clothing from the backyard? Or the unexpected gusts of wind on calm days that are just hard enough to blow the racks of clothes over? Let’s not mention that all sorts of insect life is seemingly drawn to the smell of freshly washed clothing and practically stampedes over to take up residence in our skivvies as soon as Nikki goes back inside.
There’s one other perk for Nikki that for her is the main reason to hang the clothes outside: the smell of the outdoors. She loves the smell of clothes that have been hanging outside so much, I’m thinking it’s become an addiction. She can’t fold a t-shirt without pressing it to her face and toking from it, sweaters and towels are snorted up before they get folded neatly. She loves it, and is almost annoyed by my complete ambivalence to the smell of our clothes. Each basket of freshly aired clothes is presented to me with the demand;
“Smell that! Just smell it! Oh, man that smells good, doesn’t it? Don’t you just love that smell? Did you smell it? Smells good eh?”
It’s gotten to the point that I have started to feign interest, or she won’t let me go.
“Oh it smells really great, hon.”
“You don’t care do you? DO you?”
“NO! I mean, no honey, I love it just as much as you do, really….”
The only other downside to hanging the clothes outside is the more Nikki sniffs and snorts, the more ragweed she ingests deep into her sinuses. This all comes to a head each morning, by which time her nose is clogged and she is sneezing her head off. Usually a shower is enough to clear her head of the allergy attack, but just like any other junkie, she can’t stop sniffing and huffing the laundry. I really can’t talk to her about her addiction, she gets rather aggressive, I can only hope she will stop using in the winter when the clothes will be frozen stiff as a board, and maybe this habit will end. For a time.
I have to admit that I get it, Nikki. I love crawling into a bed made up with crisp sheets that spent the day flapping in the fresh spring air. I, too, have nearly inhaled towels, shirts, nightgowns—you name it. A perfectly acceptable practice, as far as I’m concerned. The only problem is that many communities have ordinances banning the use of clotheslines. It’s possible Kanata is one of them. If this is the case you’re lucky none of your neighbours have ratted you out, you crazy outlaw with your crisp, fresh laundry. I think it’s more controversial in the US—in some states you need a license to have a clothesline. Not that Canadians don’t have crazy laws: I believe in some provinces it is illegal to remove a bandage in public. Suspender wearing might be an illegal act, too. I’m not sure about that one. But I know it’s illegal to buy a 50-cent item with 50 pennies.
Pro-dryer-tax-paying citizens feel they have a right to live in communities where shirts and trousers aren’t free to flutter and drip dry in plain sight. Years ago I saw a news piece on the subject—there were the usual outraged yet inarticulate citizens with moral compasses that led them to believe semi-dry articles of clothing were both unsightly and indecent. There was no end to the damage begotten by this kind of incivility: Property values and curbside appeal could go down the toilet; once friendly neighbours might cease all verbal communication, resorting to mean-spirited glaring to get their points across; pubescent boys could be inspired to violate themselves. Society as we know it could go to hell in a hand basket.
The whole clothesline thing reminds me of my little childhood neighbour. Growing up I had very few neighbours my own age; in fact, this one kid was pretty much it. The neighbour to the west of his house was in the habit of hanging her unmentionables on the clothesline. At least twice each week we could count on a clothesline adorned with a colourful array of panties, bras, and camisoles. My little buddy would sit in his tree house, gazing longingly at her delicates. At first I giggled, too, at the outlandish designs and colours. But soon I grew bored with the whole game. In truth I thought her underwear were just weird and tacky. I briefly thought about showing my panties-obsessed friend the underwear section of the Sears catalogue. In the end I decided this might only enable his addiction. I was just glad he didn’t ask me to try on his mother’s underwear.
Anyway, cheers to the fast-approaching clothesline season.
I LOVE CLOTHES DRIED ON THE CLOTHESLINE!!!!! I love sheets dried on the line, then ironed and put on the beds…..mmmmmm hmm, I totally agree Nikki & Paula, there is nothing that can compare with sunshine and fresh air!