The Joys of the Laundry

Yes, laundry can be a wonderful experience.  Stay with me here.  You may recognize some of these moments.  You may have had them yourself.

I was putting away not one but TWO Ikea bags-worth of laundry - a load of blacks, and "the whites" (as Walter would say) - and experienced quite a few positive moments.

First, I put away a white linen shirt I own - my favorite shirt, and almost my favorite article of clothing, ever.  Do you know this shirt?  It's different for everyone, but for me it's a fine white linen long shirt, pin tucked at the Gatsby collar; at the time I bought it, years and years ago now, it was the most expensive shirt I'd ever bought: $60 at Macy's.  But the linen seemed so high-quality.  And it was - it's lasted for over a decade, and has grown only more rough and weathered and beautiful.  It's like something from a J. Peterman catalog.  AND, even though it's white (I'm messy; I fear white clothes), it's like a miracle cloth: every single stain (including chocolate, red wine, etc) I've ever gotten has come out.  This shirt got me through Europe - several times. 

And it's a pleasant experience, if we stop to notice it, to hold a garment which has history, almost memory.  I was already in a sort of zoned out mellow state from putting away laundry - few things can zen one out like folding laundry, right? - and so my brain was wandering from subject to subject...and naturally rested on all those pleasant places and times I wore that shirt.

Then, loading up the laundry bags for next time, my hand glanced over a rarely-worn jeans pocket, and felt - ever so lightly - something in there, something that yielded to my hand with the same exact pressure as...my brain took a split second to catch up with my senses...it was like money.  Yes, money.  I went back to the pocket - and there it was: $6.  Okay, so six dollars isn't much.  Still, it's kind of fun anytime you FIND money.  And even more sort of delightful was the almost superhuman way I detected it - made me feel like I was some sort of 007-level trained spy, able to sense money in a pocket from almost afar!

I also had put on some music (the soundtrack to the movie Shortbus - good movie) that was unfamiliar, but yet partially familiar - and that was really pleasurable too.  I love that sensation of listening to music I used to love but haven't heard for a long time, or know a little bit but feel like I am finally appreciating it for the first time.  People don't often enough speak of the rare pleasures that the passing of time affords, but one of them is the joy of listening to music you love but have all but forgotten about.

After the clothes, I put away my socks, which involves dealing with my sock drawer.  As it is for many, I believe, my sock drawer is a challenge.  I've got whites and darks, and thicks and thins, and shorts and longs - women need sock & hosiery variety - and it can be a jumble.  I keep them in check with a strict method: all pairs are matched in sock balls, and "singles" are kept tied in bundles (one dark, one light) until the next time I do laundry, and a missing mate can be found.  It works well, although every once in a while I have to toss a long-lost mate, abandoning hope that the match will ever be found. 

Working on my sock drawer really relaxes me, more than folding: repetitive, yet varied.  Familiar, yet new (when mates surprisingly appear).  And I feel very in control, accomplished.  When done, I can have the satisfaction of thinking, well, at least THAT is done, that is in order, that got taken care of. It's finite, my sock drawer, but its apparent chaos makes me feel powerful when I am able to impose order. 

And then, perhaps because I was in a sort of mellow mood from the memory shirt, the bonus six bucks, the Shortbus and the triumph of sock drawer, I had a thought: it may be time in my life to become more outrageous - after all, I have trusted friends who will tell me if I am going off the deep end.  It's time to play a bigger game, to do what I want to do, rather than what I believe I can do. 

It was practically an epiphany.  During the laundry.

Addendum: The other day, I thought - you can divide the world into two classes of people (and one can play this game almost endlessly; I take care to remember all labels are only convenient and temporary partial descriptions): those who ask "Why?," and those who ask "Why not?".  I've always been a proponent of Why Not.  I mean, why not?