perfect spring drying weather

It's been beautiful outside today. There's a full line of washing flapping gently in the breeze, fragrant blossom petals drifting in the air. I've been on holiday this week and it's been a beautiful things to see. We seemed to have moved on from winter. Haven't had to dry washing in front of the heater everyday for ages. Or maybe I'm romanticising it all, because mostly I've been coming home and seeing that it's been done. Even the folding and putting away. I shut my eyes when it's a bit messy around the edges, because I'm like that too. Still it's been a pleasure hanging washing out this week, what with spring arriving and all.

Not that you can quite see the spring thing happening in this picture because I took it before the blossom came out. I like that it seems to symbolise the distance I have sometimes to this part of domestic life now that I'm back at work more and G is holding the fort at home. Even though I still seem to do a fair bit of folding when I'm around and sometimes when we're both here it's a case of oh, I thought you were doing that and there's a lapse into a gentle befuddled anarchy. Most of the time though, someone else is maintaining the order.

Right. Off to bake a cake and take some pictures of the blossom on the washing.

the mittens of the kittens

Three little kittens, they lost their mittens,
And they began to cry,
   "Oh ! Mother dear, we sadly fear
Our mittens we have lost!"

Mother Cat admonishes the kittens and punishes them by withdrawing food. The kittens find their mittens. Pie is subsequently provided. Which the kittens eat while wearing their mittens. Most likely as mother says, "take off your mittens please," then facing screeches and tantrums she lets it slide and then, annoyed at the extra washing she says,

"What!  soiled your mittens,
   You naughty kittens !"

The kttens are contrite. Their mittens are no longer cleen.

The kittens wash their mittens. Because they are very independent young kittens. "I do it," they say. And they are very proud to show off their mitten washing skills. Mother Cat is delighted.

"What ! Washed your mittens,
You darling kittens !"
   But I smell a rat close by !
   Hush, hush, hush."

Illustrations and text from Three Little Kittens, part of the My Tiny 3-D Book, Froebel-Kan, Tokoyo, 1987.

For some reason I was thinking about this book today. Maybe it's the rat in the skirting board, the one whose scratching wakes me up at night sometimes. As the cat sleeps on my feet. Perhaps it's the utter cuteness of the little cats washing their mittens, somewhat akin to the utter cuteness of watching Grace wash her dolls in the bath. Or something to do with feeling unconnected to the washing? G asked me tonight if I thought he should do the sheets tommorrow. I said yes, of course, but really I hadn't even been thinking about it. I used to have the washing in my head the whole time. Now I don't, except in books. Strange.

And then while I'm away, I'll write home ev'ry day

A while ago, this picture of a young Paul McCartney, playing his guitar under a line of washing, appeared in the Sunday Life section of The Age newspaper. If it hadn't been for the heads up from Suse, I would have missed it. Thanks Suse!  G had scrap booked it, but at the time he didn't think to ask whether I'd seen it. Which he normally would, I think. Anyway, it's a beautiful image and a perfect example of the celebrity laundry genre, which is a favourite of mine.





The image is from Chaos and Creation on the Backyard, which I've not heard or seen because I so don't keep up with music anymore, I just listen to what's on and complain loudly if I don't like it. Like if it's jangly when I'm in the mood for smooth, or bland when I'm in the mood for loud. Luckily I live with someone who is happy to be Mr Deejay most of the time, even if he does mock me for playing the same tapes over and over in the car. Are you still listening to that Beth Orton? he says.


I wonder if this shot is staged. It was taken in the early 60s, maybe before they became mega famous but definitely after they'd been playing for a while. After Hamburg? I don't know, but I read somewhere on the 'net that Paul and Linda McCartney tried to give their children an ordinary upbringing, which included him insisting that she did the family's laundry, so the house would smell of ironing. Which reminded him of his childhood. I can't imagine he would have had time, what with being a rockstar and all.

cat and smalls

Mister Tony has been required to share his space in front of the heater rather frequently of late. Not just with the washing, but it has been the place to be. It also seems that whenever I'm home long enough to do my own washing, it rains. But if it stops, I squelch around the line, hanging it up, only to have to bring it in again. There is only just enough hanging space inside for my weekly wash, plus the small amount of Grace's things that make up the second load. And it takes all weekend to dry and clutters up the space I use for the odd five minute burst of sewing that I manage to squeeze in here and there. I know I shouldn't really complain, as G is doing all the other washing, and is getting pretty good at the heater fiddle to boot. But what a drag, spending the weekend rotating your smalls in front of the heater, just so you have enough clean undies to wear next week at work. Not that it's particularly hard, or even all that time consuming, it's just that I have even less spare time than I did before*. And it's tedious. And constant.

We're talking about replacing the dryer of despair with one that actually works. And I'm progressing with my washing minimisation schemes. Socks get two days, as do t-shirts (unless they smell) and skirts and jumpers are going as long as decently possible. I've discovered my black velvet skirt can be worn and worn and worn again. With just an airing in between. Grace is wearing clothes for longer too, although she is very partial to cleen socks. As for G, well he's always been into washing minimisation, or as he says I just don't care about clean clothes. Call us the family scruffnut. Very enviromental.

* so less time to write about it, more time doing it, in proportion to writing about it, hey ho, if that makes any sense whatsoever, which I expect it doesn't, because who in their right mind would enjoy writing about doing their bloody washing?


 

fee fi fo fum, I smell wet washing done

There's washing on the line that's been there since Thursday. Thursday. Three days ago. On Friday I did two new loads of washing, rearranged the line and got it all out. I managed to bring about a quarter of it in a little drier than it went out. Even drying inside, and in front of the heater has been slow over the last two days. It's cold, and constant rain is making the air damp and clammy. I've been so pressed for drying space that nappies and other non essentials have been left on the line. I thought they might dry this morning but by the time we'd returned from our walk it had already been raining for half an hour. Never seem to catch them even half way to dry. Lucky I did my washing on Friday, or I'd have no clean clothes for work and Grace would be out of clean jeans.

So our kitchen feels a bit like this.

from Jack and the Beanstalk, retold by Kay Brown, illustrated by Gerry Embleton, Award Publications 1978.

Except that I'm not trying to hide a small person in the cupboard. That's Jack, being hidden from the giant by his wife, the giantess. She looks pretty nice, I think, especially since she had just made him a big plate of bacon and eggs. Her kitchen looks cosy with a giant sock and shirt hanging up. She's a model housekeeper, I'm sure. (I wonder how the giant household fares after Jack steals the goose that lays the golden eggs and the magic harp. Seems strange that this is portrayed as a good thing, especially after the giantess feeds him.)

I think I wear too many clothes, or at least I don't wear them as many times as I could before washing them. From what I remember, I came to this conclusion at the same time last year. And started a washing minimisation scheme, which I'm sure I wrote about, but buggered if I can find.

Tomorrow; the festival of folding, ironing and putting away. I can hardly wait.