For most, Memorial weekend conjures thoughts of get-togethers, cook-outs and camping trips, weekend getaways or time spent with friends and family.This year mine was…a bit different.
Friday afternoon I opened the dryer to get the clothes out. The wave of heat that greeted me about knocked me backward, and despite my legendary heat tolerance, I flinched when I reached in to touch the still-wet but very wrinkled and almost melty-looking clothes. Not a good sign. When I closed the dryer and tried to restart it, I got a plaintive beep followed by…nothing. Really not a good sign.
When Wes got home, he immediately did the man-thing and started unscrewing anything that opened. When he got the panels off and looked inside, he found a hole burned into the control board. Confirmation. My dryer was dead.
As I sat there contemplating the steaming load, another sopping wet load, and yet another still unwashed load…mixed in with a generous helping of holiday weekend…thrown in with a dash of 4 children at home changing clothes every other hour…and beaten vigorously with the knowledge that my husband had to work the entire weekend on the largest project he might have ever been involved in (and I was not going to go live at the laundry mat)…I knew there was only one thing to do.
Old Fashioned Line Drying. White-trash style.
I fished some nylon line out of the cabinet and went outside to see where I could string it. Wes followed shortly, and we made use of the wood fence, deck posts, and yes, the swing set. Even the yard chairs, the deck benches and the charcoal grill were put into use. It actually made me a bit nostalgic for Africa. Except crackling when I walked in my jeans. And about exfoliating my skin right off using the towels after a shower. And chasing blown underwear and socks around the yard. And enduring the neighbors peering over the fence and saying “Hrm…dryer problems?” And the fact that it was a week later before my dryer was working again.
As I sat there contemplating the steaming load, another sopping wet load, and yet another still unwashed load…mixed in with a generous helping of holiday weekend…thrown in with a dash of 4 children at home changing clothes every other hour…and beaten vigorously with the knowledge that my husband had to work the entire weekend on the largest project he might have ever been involved in (and I was not going to go live at the laundry mat)…I knew there was only one thing to do.
Old Fashioned Line Drying. White-trash style.
I fished some nylon line out of the cabinet and went outside to see where I could string it. Wes followed shortly, and we made use of the wood fence, deck posts, and yes, the swing set. Even the yard chairs, the deck benches and the charcoal grill were put into use. It actually made me a bit nostalgic for Africa. Except crackling when I walked in my jeans. And about exfoliating my skin right off using the towels after a shower. And chasing blown underwear and socks around the yard. And enduring the neighbors peering over the fence and saying “Hrm…dryer problems?” And the fact that it was a week later before my dryer was working again.
Yeah. Except for all of that, it was great.
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