A Year of Gratitude - Day One Hundred Thirty-three

Day 133 - Laundry

Sunday is my laundry day.  Until I went to college, my mom did my laundry most of the time.  She taught my brothers and me how to do it properly, and we occasionally did our own, but most of the time we simply took the laundry to the service porch or put it in the washer when Mom told us she was doing a load of whites, light colors, or dark.  

When I went to college, I did my own laundry, of course.  I remember inadvertently leaving something red in with the white wash, and a striped cotton dress shirt I had sucked the bleeding dye up like a sponge.  It turned it an odd shade of pink, naturally, and I never wore it again - not because it was pink, but rather it seemed the pink-ness was accidental.  Which it was.  

I remember I had a brand new iron that was terribly heavy and old fashioned, but it was similar to the iron I had grown up with.  It felt familiar.  Unfortunately, I left it in the laundry room at the dorms one day, and when I retrieved it hours later, I found someone had dropped it, and it was broken (though still usable).  

At that time, laundry was just a chore you had to do.  Now, I love it.

There is something about fresh clothes, sheets, towels, that make me feel as if I’ve accomplished something.  There is a luxury about the warmth of fabrics fresh from the dryer.  There is a satisfaction that comes with the knowledge that I actually have clothes to wash - something so many people don’t have - and I feel very fortunate.

I look forward to laundry day, and to the moment when it is all clean and put away.  My wardrobe is never as full as when I have finished the laundry.  I always feel pretty lucky.