Laundry

I get an inordinate amount of pleasure from doing the laundry, which is odd, because I am not the slightest bit interested in other forms of domestic toil, though I will keep the loos reasonably clean.{Over the Line, oil on canvas, 2002, by Jeffrey T. Larson}

But give me a pile of washing to sort, wash and — oh joy! — hang out, and I am weirdly happy.
Not so happy about bringing it in and sorting it and putting it away, but I'll do it.
I enjoy the flap of cool wet linen on a breezy, sunny day, the bright pegs (always cheap and cheerful placky ones) against the blue sky, and the basic process of exposing washed fabrics to the whitening and drying effects of the sun.I even stuck to my guns in Southern California, a dry, desert environment where it rains little and the sun shines a lot, and where hanging out your washing to dry indicates your social and financial inferiority and is therefore prohibited in many neighbourhoods lest you bring down property prices and upset the kiddies. And this, of course, is far, far more important than the dire environmental effects of 20 million people all using dryers, even if they are gas-heated.

But I won't go on about that again ...{In the Light of Morning, oil on canvas, 2003, by Jeffrey T. Larson}

I laundered my handmade napkins today — including this one, which someone decided last year would be the perfect cloth for wiping down something gross, like a wet bike, or a set of lawn bowls. Grrrr.