I've been staring at a blank text post page for the past fifteen minutes. Now, for someone who doesn't know how to shut up, that's quite a big deal. In my other blogs I can ramble endlessly. Focusing on writing about the domestic life I enjoy so much is far tougher than I imagined.
I've just finished washing a week's worth of clothes. Let's start there.
A week's worth of clothes hangs air drying on the clotheslines in the veranda.
As a child, I always enjoyed the smell of freshly-laundered clothes and I would gleefully run back and forth between shirts, dresses, uniforms, and bedding, savouring the cool, damp fabric and the smell of laundry detergent. I would try to be as helpful as I could manage when the adults would hang up laundry--which, being too short to reach the clothesline, meant handing over hangers and clothespins--just to be engulfed in the sweet, soapy air.
As an adult, doing the laundry is very different for me. While it's true that I know how to hand wash clothes, I find that mechanical assistance is more practical for me because I can do other things while letting the machine take care of the laundry.
Oh but the smell. I continue to revel in it.
I get more satisfaction from the waft of clean laundry than actually seeing the laundry hanging out to dry. Maybe it's because I'm working on other things while doing the laundry that the heavier the clean laundry smell is in the air, the closer I know I'm getting to finishing that particular chore.
That said, among the things I really want to improve here at home is our laundry space. Not just the area for the washing machine but the space for our clotheslines as well.
But let's reserve that for another time, shall we?