Dryers don’t exist here. But I’ve found that I enjoy the meditative aspects of hanging each item of clothing on the line. Of course it takes longer, but there’s something about simplifying, using what Mother Nature provides for free without any adverse effects. It’s nice. You feel good.
Also: hanging laundry comes with an adrenaline rush! My heart beats faster when I lean out the window, 6 stories up, with my favourite shirt in hand, consigning it to the winds and only a thin rubber-enclosed wire. My new house is not well-stocked with clothespins (mollette), so I can use only a risky one per item (I’d feel better with 7 or 8).
And I have a lot to learn about pinning techniques. While I hang my clothes evenly divided, half on each side of the line, for security, those courageous Italians pin their clothes only at the top. That’s a level of daring I’m not ready for yet!
Theoretically, of course, it wouldn’t be that difficult to retrieve anything that might fall to the ground floor. If it doesn’t get blown away, and there’s no feisty dog, and if I can make myself understood in Italian. But that’s a conversation I would like to avoid; it’s a matter of pride. “Silly American,” they would say [because all English speakers who aren’t British must be American], “can’t even hang on to her clothes!”
* * *
As an industrious Canadian I’ve always meted out pleasure for myself in small doses. And only after a hard day’s or week’s work.
It’s quite an idea, being here and considering that the enjoyment of leisure might not have to be earned.
Perhaps even the concept that pleasure is deserved is anathema to this way of life. Resting, walking by the sea, having an espresso with friends, it’s all as natural and a necessary part of living as buying groceries.
* * *
Once I came home and accidentally did something terrible.
When my normally-easygoing roommate approached me with a grave look on her face, she looked so upset that it struck fear into my heart. She took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how much BAD LUCK you’ve brought into this house??” she demanded, pointing to the wet umbrella I’d left on the floor, open, to dry.
“Uh, no, gee, I’m sorry...what...?” I stammered. She seemed to mellow a bit when she realized I hadn’t deliberately conspired to bring the forces of hell against her.
You need to get your self a clothes drying rack for those precious items that you don't want to risk to gravity and a clothes pin.
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