Laundry

I’m sitting here trying to figure out just what the big deal was.

Back around 1984 when Jim and I first started living together, we alternated weekly who did laundry. We also did the grocery shopping together every Sunday morning.

One day Jim informed me that he hated grocery shopping, and he didn’t really like how I did laundry. We made a deal then—I would shop, he would be the laundry man.

And that is how it has been all these years.

In the past year, despite his health issues, Jim has kept up with the laundry pretty well. He tends to let it accumulate for a long time, and then spends a whole weekend getting it all done. Pure drudgery, in my opinion.

Jim is the king of getting spots out. For years, my sister would call him for advice on various issues. I suppose now she is the queen of spot removal, having learned from the best.

But now he is not here, and I find myself on my own to get this done. We had purchased new washer and dryer in 2020 when things were sinfully cheap, and now I’m starting to learn the ins and outs of how to use these machines.

The first load I did, I failed to realize I had never washed a pair of burgundy yoga pants before. Some of my underwear came out delightfully tie-dyed in lovely pink and purple tones.

Twice I forgot the softener. Then when I remembered it, I put it in the detergent cup. 

I don’t wait for the basket to be bursting at the seams. When I see a load, I wash it. 

For years I wondered if I could ever do laundry again without resentment. Now I find it’s no big deal. What was I so concerned about?

Given that life keeps changing, I’m hoping that other things I tend to let gnaw on my brain turn out to be no big deal. 

And now that I’m finishing this essay after folding the clothes, I’m starting to wonder if I remembered to put in the detergent pod on this last load. Hmmm…

Do they look clean to you?