My dryer is broken. And I have a LOT of laundry. During a typical week I run at least 10 loads. It's those boys. The gigantic dirt pile in the back yard doesn't help. And the potty training toddler. *sigh*
I grew up in the city and never had nor used a clothes line. Clotheslines have always presented a romantic image to me. Mother hanging linens on the line while her dress blows prettily in the wind.
But it's raining here. A lot. So my family's clothes are strung from one end of the basement to the other. And their unmentionables are on a rack in my living room. Very unromantic. And crunchy. I didn't know that air dried clothes would be so stiff when they dry. And really it does take an awfully long time for them to dry.
All things considered, I rather think that dryers are more romantic than clotheslines. I love pulling warm towels or blankets out of a hot dryer in the middle of Winter and cuddling with them for a while before folding; or hearing the kids squeal with delight when their pajamas are freshly dried, warm and ready to wear on an Autumn evening.
I really like technology.
My vacuum cleaner is broken, too. And I haven't the slightest idea how to clean carpets without one. I thought of wrapping Crash in duct tape (sticky side out) and rolling him around the living room; he seemed to like the idea. Or maybe I'll just Google to find out what hardy American women do in times like this.
I'm sure this all started with my rag rug. But really, there is something beautiful about keeping the home creatively. I attacked the laundry with unusual vigor today; with that part of me that imagines myself an Amish mama and all the beautiful things that come with a life of creative and productive service. Sacrificial love. Beautiful and sanctifying work.
Ora et labora.