Clothes Line Thoughts

Photo by Doug Lang
A Clothes Line in Iceland     Photo by Doug Lang

I miss having a clothes line.  It is evidence, I suppose, of my middle classness.  Not that anyone who knows me would need evidence of that.

I know middle class is considered the “ordinary” class, over looked like a middle child while the poor and the rich get all the attention.  But I’ve never minded being middle class, we are (or at least were) the majority.  And honestly, there have been times in my life when middle class was somewhat of an aspiration.

Being a single unit among the masses, the hoi polloi, has never bothered me because I have always known that I am unique.  Just as I know that you, whoever is reading this is  unique.

Others often cannot see my uniqueness, because I, and possibly you also,  seem ordinary at first glance.  But the short-sightedness of others has never threatened or undermined my convictions about my own uniqueness and you should never allow anyone to make you question yours.  From the day we are born we are guided, led, and coerced to sacrifice our unique qualities in order to conform to a “norm.”  It is a norm that changes with time and fashion and location, but the pressure to make you change who you are in order to resemble it, goes on forever.

Ahhh, but society requires certain norms you may argue;  and you are right to do so.  We must adhere to certain rules and regulations if we are to co-exist comfortably.

But it is good to step back from time to time and question the reason or the validity of our actions.  I thought of the woman who always cut the end off a roast and laid it beside the main part of the meat because that’s how her mother did it.  One day she asked her mother why she did that, expecting some ages-old culinary secret to be revealed.

“My pan was too short,” her mother said.

These are some of the thoughts that whirled about in my mind as I washed some personal laundry by hand and put it on hangers and hung them on the back porch to dry.  An action that was questioned by both my husband and son.

“I need some clean clothes and it’s 100 degrees and I can’t stand to add the heat of a clothes dryer to the atmosphere,” I explained to them.

As I came in to capture on paper, some of the thoughts that swirled in my head,  I realized hanging clothes outdoors made me feel good.  Sure, clothes smell good (without benefit of a scented dryer sheet) when dried out doors.  And I am tapping into the oldest source of power on earth.  But most of all I love the way my mind runs and skips about  when I am hanging clothes out side to dry.


2 Comments Add yours

  1. restless42 says:

    That’s lovely Dear Dorothy. I too am a clothes line sorta guy. At my last place it was strung between two poplar trees but here in the backstreets of Battlefields, Penzance, where space is restricted I have three rows of washing line that are run up and down on pulleys rather like raising the flag!
    I wish I had your Texas heat for drying, reverting immediately to English temperate temperatures as soon as the washing was dry!
    Much Love

    1. missourichild says:

      I wish I could send you some of our dry heat and maybe you could send us a rain cloud?

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