Are you old enough to remember when everybody hung the laundry out to

dry, usually on a Monday morning? In cities and towns people took pride in

having their laundry out first or in having the whitest sheets. On the farm

where I grew up there wasn’t much competition because the clotheslines at

one farm house were too far away from those at the next house to allow easy

comparisons. Those were the “olden days” I guess, and only a few diehards

like me still take pride in hanging laundry out.

 

Today most people toss sheets from the washer into the dryer and race on

through a fast-paced day. Many have no place to hang laundry outdoors

even if they had time to do it. I had a different slower-lane kind of day. I did

the laundry and made the bed with clean sheets–not just any sheets, but

sheets whipped dry in an early spring breeze, sheets that have billowed

like the sails of a great ship. I wiped off the clotheslines and got out the

clothespin bag I had brought in last fall. Preparing to hang the laundry

outdoors is, for me, a kind of ritual of spring. It lifts my spirit. I like the idea

of using solar energy in the form of sunlight and wind to dry the laundry.

When I bring the sheets in, they smell of fresh air. In a way, carrying sheets

from the clothesline to the house is like bringing the outdoors indoors. Sure,

they have tiny clothespin marks on their corners, but having those ever-so-

fresh-smelling sheets makes such minor blemishes easy to take. I can’t even

see them when the lights are out and I’m lying in bed between those

scrumptious sheets.

 

In addition to their fresh air aroma, outdoor dried sheets have a fluffed up

texture all their own. They’re not rough, not slick, they just have a special

kind of smooth. In fact, I’ve often thought that line dried sheets are a special

way to say to my family, “I love you.” Stretching out to let those sheets

caress my bare arms and legs is like lavishing love on myself. What a

pleasure! Considering that such ecstasy came free of charge from the sun,

it’s got to be just about the cheapest luxury on earth.

From one laundry day to the next, the sheets loose their clothesline fresh

aroma and their fluffy texture goes flat. But these qualities are easily

renewed. All it takes is another trip through the washing machine and back

on the line for another tussle with the wind and time in the sun. Wind-

whipped sheets are great from spring to autumn, but the pleasure palls

when cold sharp winds come and freeze the sheets to the line, stiff as a

plywood plank. Before that happens I use the dryer to fluff those sheets and

get on with my day like most everyone else.

 

Would that all aspects of life were as fresh and smooth and clean as sheets

just in from the line. Alas, that’s not the case. When I have a topsy-turvy day

and things keep going wrong, I like to think metaphorically about clean

sheets. If my writing goes awry, I want a clean sheet of paper. If I’m

correcting mistakes in another part of my life, I speak of turning over a new

leaf. I never willingly expose my problems or “hang my dirty laundry in

public.” I much prefer to solve my problems privately without fanfare or

publicity. Literally or metaphorically, I like clean sheets.

This is from Joan’s book,  Life in a Slower Lane, used with permission of the author, Joan G. Creager, who owns the copyright. Published 2003 by Virtualbookworm.com Publishing Inc., P. O. Box 9949, College Station, Texas 
ISBN 1-58939-374-0. Copies are available from the publisher for $13.95.