I stand here folding

Ruminations about laundry and maybe life

With apologies to Tillie Olsen…

Doing laundry is kind of my favorite chore. It requires¹ me to go through the hamper methodically sorting colors, making decisions about whether a garment is “light” or “dark” and often changing my mind midway for reasons that only make sense to me. I also relish seeing the tired piles lined up in the hallway, awaiting their transformation and ultimate return to the closet. Moving the freshly cleaned clothes from the washer, often around Zelda who deems the dryer door her favorite perch whenever I open it, is the climax of this chore. The turning point if you will, because everything is mostly downhill from there. Sometimes the clothes aren’t entirely dry at the end of their allotted time so the satisfying act of pulling them into the laundry basket is postponed. When everything is properly dried and I can once again sort - the hanging items from those that can be hastily tossed in the basket - there is the briefly rewarding step of swiping the lint trap clean but then….

Once I finally submit to confronting the full basket, I do enjoy the mindless, calming ritual of folding & stacking our clean clothes. But things can sit in that wicker limbo for a week or more, my husband & I blearily fumbling through it for underwear or socks every morning. The more days that pass this way, the less I look directly at the basket and start to think about giving it all away and just buying new things. Then comes a day when I cannot play any more Word Wipe am up to facing the task. Usually I have just showered and realize there are no clean clothes I want to wear. So I screw up my courage, turn on NPR, shoo Zelda out of the middle of the bed and set up my Folding Area. I then start in on the pile to the soothing enthusiasm of public radio hosts (and occasional side-eye from my displaced cat); the rote movements and neat, growing stacks hush any remaining mental resistance.

When I was a teenager, folding & ironing was my main chore, after washing dishes. Sometimes I mowed the lawn² but usually I took too long so my mom or dad would just do it instead. I rarely complained about the laundry tasks though, because everything was in the basement family room where we had a big TV hooked to a satellite dish. While folding or ironing every weekend³, I could see all the newest videos on MTV; I watched An Officer and a Gentleman and The Lords of Discipline at least half a dozen times each from 1982-1983. I became a partly cool & cultured [for a teenager] kid because I embraced my nerdy nature & delight in organizational chores. Now I stay partly cool & cultured [for an AARP member] in the same way.

I’d love to say that I developed something then that I’ve carried into many other parts of my adulthood, a sort of mindful mindlessness that helps me transcend life’s obstacles. I’m working on it, but so far it’s still just for the laundry; I’m no Tillie Olsen.

1. My own personal standard. Apparently The Kids These Days reject sorting their clothes, like savages. #IHaveFailedAsAParent

2. I recently discovered that my parents dispute this, but I vividly recall mowing at least twice while listening to The Go-Go’s on my knock-off Walkman, hoping a cute boy passing by would see me and ask me out.

3. No cute boys ever passed by and asked me out.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash