Posted in Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Homemaking, Wisdom

Whatever Works: Laundry

I’ve encountered another $100.00!

English: Laundry is hung to dry above an Itali...
Laundry is hung to dry above an Italian street. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve known for ages that the older ways were kinder on clothing, on the environment, and on the utilities bill, but I just recently found the exact dollar amount.

They say, if I dry my laundry the old-fashioned way, I save about $100.00 every year. I’ve been doing this for many, many years. It’s more like $4,300, really. And it takes only a few moments per day, really hardly any longer than just loading the dryer.

But that’s not all.

No, if we dry our clothes on a line or rack, we extend the life of the clothing about 50%. Of course, we may not make good use of the savings if we are enslaved to the changing of the styles, but for many of us, that represents another huge saving.

But that’s not all.

Clothing dried on a rack come “out of the dryer” pre-folded! How cool is that? I literally take towels and wash cloths off the rack and put them away, as is. T-shirts require only one more fold. Everything is already smoothed, stacks better, and just is twice as easy to put away.

English: Drying clothes
Drying clothes (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

But that’s not all.

How would you like to add to last Wednesday’s health tricks? Drying laundry indoors humidifies the air in the winter, causing the body to fight off upper respiratory problems more efficiently. The result is fewer colds. That’s what they say, and I think I can tell that is happening for us. We’re “weller” without the cost or the mess of a humidifier.

But that’s not all.

Quality of life seems to skyrocket. Towels are more absorbent when they are not gummed up with fabric softener. A rack-dried towel, fresh from the closet, gives a marvelous back-scratching. Cotton t-shirts feel more honestly real when you put them on, and smell better, too, especially if they’ve been line-dried outdoors. We never encounter static cling.

But that’s not all.

If you have never gone to bed between freshly laundered, line-dried sheets, you just come on over to my house, dear, and let me introduce you to some real sleep. Sheets that you can feel, that stay tucked in, and that smell like angel wings — you won’t know what hit you ’til mornin’ honey!

And that’s probably still not all.

Posted in Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Inspiring, Photos

The Top Ten from Twenty-Twelve

In order of most traffic generated, here they are:

1. Is This Happening in the USA? Yes!

2. Launch

3. Ode to a Wringer Washer

4. Dreaming . . .

5.  I Have a Confession to Make

6.  Wrong

7. Movement

8. Blue

9. One Mom’s Description

10.  Create

And with that, I’d like to add my own favorite:

How to Save the US $20,000,000,000

Okay, now you have some great reading material to get you through the long night. See you in a couple of days, I hope!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Posted in Believe it or not!, Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Inspiring, Sayings, Wisdom

Another Time and Another Place

Thomas Jefferson by Rembrandt Peale: (1805) [c...
Thomas Jefferson by Rembrandt Peale: (1805) [cropped] (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Try this on for size:

“A wise and frugal government, which shall restrain men from injuring one another, which shall leave them otherwise free to regulate their own pursuits of industry and improvement, and shall not take from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned. This is the sum of good government, and this is necessary to close the circle of our felicity.”

Thomas Jefferson, First Inaugural Address.
For some rather uncanny facts about Jefferson’s presidential election, go here. You will be surprised at some parallel statistics.
Posted in Believe it or not!, Good ol' days

The Last Snowing Hurricane

From his vantage point high above the earth in...
From his vantage point high above the earth in the International Space Station, Astronaut Ed Lu captured this broad view of Hurricane Isabel. The image was taken with a 50 mm lens on a digital camera. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Lewis and Clark had just started out for points unknown.

Jefferson was President and was incumbent during the soon-coming election. Clinton was his running mate. George Clinton, that is.

The Electoral College had new rules to try out.

Then it hit.

No one alive had ever seen anything like it.

With no means of early warning, and few places out west for evacuation, many died.

People venturing outdoors the next day were shocked at being able to see nearby villages, a view normally obstructed by dense woods.

In some locales, the snow was 3 feet deep. And in some places it stayed on all winter.

Fruit trees laden with fruit snapped off at ground level; potatoes froze beneath the earth.

Ships in eastern harbors dragged anchor or broke the chains to their anchors and crashed together or floated to sea, killing many sailors.

Steeples, chimneys, and even entire roofs blew away.

Most trees were flattened, ruining the ship-building industry for years.

Estimated as a category 2-3, it landed near Atlantic City, which was 50 years in the future at that time.

It was the Atlantic snowing hurricane of October 9-10, 1804.

And though these were more primitive times — no snow-plows, for instance — the election was carried out in a timely manner.

Posted in Good ol' days, Homemaking, Inspiring, Sayings, Womanhood

Saturday Sayings — Everyday Life

woman in housedress: madison + 41
woman in housedress

I cannot believe what I have seen, lately.

And that comment deserves an explanation.

The wedding wowed us all, and my son, no doubt, rejoices, now. We’ll talk about that later, I’m sure.

But what I realize suddenly, is that for the last 42 years, I have been co-existing with my kids. That thought barely fits inside my head. Just barely. For 42 years, I’ve had kids in my corner — whether pre-borns, school-aged, or 20-somethings, they were my kids and they were here.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly they have sought their niches and moved on to life as they envisioned it.

I wonder if they envisioned it accurately, any better than I did. I mean, I always wanted six children, but I never, even once, thought I would live with kids for 42 years. It makes me laugh because it sounds like I ran an orphanage. Often I jokingly said of my profession, that I helped my husband manage a home for children who would otherwise be homeless. I believed that, even while I laughed about it. I joke about someone else doing their laundry for a change, and I believe that, too, as I laugh.

The time arrives when all that work is over and I enjoy reaping grandkids and such. I re-arrange furniture in empty bedrooms, glad for the space, glad for a chance to access the under-bed areas with a broom and mop, daring not to allow the mixed emotions a venue, terrified of second thoughts, unable to admit missed chances, refusing to ponder the distance to check on these kids, allowing only the happy-thoughts.

I did it. They are raised and gone. Their rooms are again mine. I can have a sewing room and an office.

And more money for luxuries.

And more clean.

And more time.

And more quiet.

And my own way, more.

This brings me to the saying for Saturday, a chorus from an old song by Glen Campbell: Dreams of the Everyday Housewife

Such are the dreams of the everyday housewife
You see everywhere any time of the day
An everyday housewife
Who gave up the good life
For me.

However the writer of this song assumes the wife longs for the good ol’ pre-marriage days, it fails to realize what it juxtaposes:

Wrinkles vs. young men’s ridicule — give me wrinkles, any day.

Apron vs. dancing men waiting in line for her — really; that’s the good life.

Closet vs. photos, and dried flower crumbling — actually, I have many, many photos and flowers, none crumbling, and I could use another closet.

Housedress vs. mind-blowing gowns — the way I dress in the house is far more sensible and comfortable and desirable and if gowns are the “good life”, I’d give them up in a heartbeat for what I’d really like.

I’d really like to ride that “housewife” ride all over again.

(Photo credit: bondidwhat)

Posted in Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Health, Homemaking, Inspiring, Photos, Wisdom, Womanhood

Ode to a Wringer Washer

genuine Kenmore wringer on tub
Genuine Kenmore Wringer on Tub

The second-most-viewed post on my site. I cannot figure this, but have loved seeing nearly every week, someone else coming to read this.

Have fun.

My gramma had a laundry wringer. And for a while, so did my mom. I always loved these machines that squeezed the water out of clothing so graphically and intriguingly.

click to view water running off
Click to View Water Running Off

Back then, washing used only one load of soapy water, beginning clean, with white clothing, and proceeded to gradually dirtier and darker clothing and water, until the last thing washed was the dingy dungarees worn to protect the good clothing from animal chores.

no longer dripping
No Longer Dripping

After washing came rinsing, or some said, “wrenching,” which surely they thought referred to the old way of removing extra water, by hand wringing, making the arms and hands feel nearly wrenched out of socket. My gramma put bluing in rinse water to make whites look whiter. I never could understand this substance, bluer than a computer screen, that made things white.

Gramma used homemade soap on clothes. I mean: natural lye made from last winter’s wood ash combined with natural trimmings from natural meat, and yes, she made it herself, on the wood stove in her woodshed, and stacked it everywhere in there to cure. Then she grated it for flakes. It all smelled so fresh and good.

To this day, aroma from homemade soap makes me think of birds calling and locusts scritching combined with comfy sloshy sounds of laundry done during warm laundry days. And my gramma’s voice explaining . . .

The washer, and its accompanying rinse tubs on platforms, rolled creaking out onto the bumpy concrete porch around Gramma’s woodshed. A hose ran first to fill rinse tubs, and later to empty them onto the enormous strawberry patch.

Only large pots of scalding water went into the washer, itself, and yes, heated on that wood stove. All the concrete porches got a scrub-down with used laundry water splashed on, pure and natural.

There were manual and electric versions of the wringer. My gramma had the kind she had to crank and disdained the electric, which could swallow up an arm or break off buttons. She fished clothes out with a stick; the water was that hot. My auntie had one and I didn’t like the noise of it. Besides, cranking the wringer was an honored chore because you had to be old enough to reach and strong enough turn it without let-up.

The wringer and its tray were rotatable to provide also for two tubs of rinse water. Every article of clothing went through the agitation in soapy water, wringing, pouring and dribbling, to kerplunk into the first rinse, and then into the second, before finally being wrung into a laundry basket for hanging on the line.

It seems like so much work, and it was. No wonder laundering was an event with its own day set aside. Imagine dragging all that production outdoors on a daily basis for just one load! Yet, all this was such an improvement over lugging all the laundry to a stream, or boiling it in a huge pot over an open fire.

Yes, it was good, honest work, but that woodshed and that porch were my gramma’s gym and she stayed fit, even into old age. And although she belonged to a gene pool that proved a tendency to plumpness, she always remained trim.

Unlike me.

Posted in Blessings of Habit, Good ol' days, Homemaking, Inspiring, Womanhood

My Grandmother’s Quilts

This is my most visited post, so far. It amazes me that folks come here, most. Enjoy.

I just want to tell you about my grandmother, Laura, this time.

I am a grandmother, and when I was little, I always wanted to be one. When I need inspiration, I remember my grandmother, Laura. Life is so different, now, though.

I know she was elderly because she had arthritic knuckles, gray hair, and a craggy voice. She wore a dress at all times, and she wore shoes with thick, high heels that tied on, sort of like men’s dress wingbacks, perforations and all. Do they even still sell those?

She sewed all her dresses. And sometimes, as a gift, she sewed my mother a dress, too. And she sewed the first dress I ever wore when I was very tiny. I know she made these dresses, because she made a quilt for each of her grandchildren. She did not go to a store for fabric for these quilts. No, she used fabric scraps from sewing dresses. When she made my quilt, she was careful to use many scraps from my mother’s and from my dresses.

I look at the quilt she made for me and I see the dress my mother wore to church in summer. I see a dress my grandmother wore. I see my very first, ever, dress I wore when I was tiny.

I don’t know how my grandmother found the time. She babysat three children, to make an income, because she was widowed when my mother was six. She used her entire, small backyard as a strawberry patch and put up all those berries or traded them for peaches and crabapples to put up. She made her own soap on the wood stove in the woodshed for all washing needs, for clothing, dishes, and bathing. She heated with wood or coal. She did laundry in the woodshed using a wringer washer and hanging it out in summer or in the woodshed in winter, when it froze.

And she prayed. I mean, she really took time out to pray. She would tell us not to bother her while she prayed, she would go to her room and shut the door, and she would pray.

When we visited her, we played with her one box of toys, leftovers from when our aunts and uncles were little. We loved these odd toys that didn’t do anything except prop up our playtime. She let us watch while she made us rolled-out sugar cookies in shapes like stars, hearts, and flowers.  When we asked for colored sugar, she told us it tastes the same. We didn’t believe it.

One wonderful time, I got to sleep with her because I was the oldest and probably would not kick too much. I got to watch her unbraid and comb her hair, which was far beyond waist length. Seeing my grandmother in her gown in the moonlight by the window, combing amazingly long and wavy hair, made her seem to me like an angel. I was in awe.

Then she broke the spell by rebraiding her hair. She never used a rubber band, but simply pulled a strand of hair and wound the end of the braid like a fishing lure. I was filled with questions, then. Why do you braid your hair to sleep? How does it stay in place with no rubber band? I don’t remember her answers, but only my awe and her amusement.

She died about 48 years ago. I still miss her. I still want to be like her when I grow up.

My Grandmother's Quilt
My Grandmother’s Quilt

Here is the quilt she made for me. You can see light red and white tiny checked fabric on the bottom, just right of center. That was my baby dress. It had teensy rickrack on it.

Just right of that is a sort of black and pink Tattersall with pink x’s. That was my mom’s summer Sunday dress for a while. It had white lace at the neckline.

Partly out of view on the left is a white with black swirls. My grandmother wore that. There we all are, in one quilt.