Conscious Choice: Hang Time

September 2008 | Life, the Universe and Everything

Hang Time

By Susie Arnett

“$8.72,” says the Rite-Aid salesgirl, as she hands me my rope and two packs of clothespins. I’ve just returned from a two-week visit with family in Ireland and have brought home the most unexpected souvenir — a deep desire to hang my laundry. Over the course of our trip, with nothing more to do than spend time with cousins and in-laws, my family and I slowed down to the speed of human relationships. And toward the end of our stay, when I needed to do laundry, there was no choice but to hang everything up on a line to dry. It’s commonplace in the countryside to see lines crisscrossing behind homes. I was uncertain, because normally I do about 14 things at a time, and do them fast. But not wanting to seem too “American,” I found myself filling up my bag with wet clothes and heading outdoors.

Out in the yard, I hung every shirt, pair of pants, sock. Bending down to the bag then reaching up to the line felt like a kind of yoga. There was time for contemplation. Does my son really need four pairs of pajamas? Does my daughter really need Hello Kitty and Dora and Spiderman underwear? Although we live on a fairly tight budget in Los Angeles, I hadn’t noticed my children accumulating a fairly substantial wardrobe. I made a mental note to give away some clothes when we got back. The grey clouds settled in overhead, threatening rain. With a cool calming breeze on my cheek, I felt one with the trees as they waved their arms, cheering me on in my newfound domesticity.

Now back in Los Angeles, I am inspired to continue this practice. We do not own a washer or dryer so I spend about $10 to $15 dollars a week at the Laundromat. I call my “green” neighbor Valerie, who only has a washing machine. She’s been hanging her clothes for years. When I first learned she did this, I was shocked. It seemed impossible. I have two small children and work part time. I can barely keep my eyebrows properly plucked. Now, I ask her if she’d mind if I used her washing machine. She says no problem, and although I offer to pay her something for the electricity, she tells me not to worry about it. Everly, my four-year-old, and I go out into the backyard and find a good sunny spot to hang our line. I tie up a high one for me and a lower one for her.

The next morning, I walk my laundry basket over to Valerie’s house. As she waters her flowers, I put my laundry in her machine and we chat. Considering how infrequently one uses a washer and a dryer, it’s amazing how many people have them. Shouldn’t neighbors share, especially since home dryers account for about 10 percent of home electricity use? Valerie tells me her daughter has gotten her first job in a local bakery. I tell her about the cheese I made in Ireland.

I bring the wet, clean wash back over to our yard and Everly and I hang our clothes, one by one. Like in Ireland, the task slows me down, and I feel like I can be with my daughter in a calm, unhurried way. She digs through the wet pile and finds a dress of hers, lays it over the line, then carefully clips it in place. We remember our trip, her Granny’s potato garden and her cousin Glen’s orange, furry sweater, which made quite an impression.

We live in a guesthouse in a middle-class neighborhood in Chatsworth, CA. I’ve never seen a laundry line anywhere. Valerie lives alone, so her laundry rack is tiny and easily hidden in a corner of her yard. I have put up two long lines that cross our yard and are impossible to ignore. The houses behind ours are up on a hill and will be able to see. I read recently that certain real estate agents believe clotheslines can drop property values by 15 percent. Considering many houses in our neighborhood are in foreclosure, I don’t think our neighbors will mind. The same story also mentioned that local governments in some areas are trying to legally prevent residents from doing “unsightly things,” including hanging wet laundry out to dry. Have we become too good for our wash?

A laundry-hanging novice, I make the mistake of folding some t-shirts over the line, leaving an awful wrinkle across the belly of my daughter’s new “Celtic Star” t-shirt, which seems permanent. I discover laundrylist.org, full of useful tips like hanging your clothes by the hem, arms hanging down in an eternal handstand. I learn that the sun acts as a bleach and can clear some stains and that the wind is like an iron, smoothing out the creases.

Although I’m grateful for many modern conveniences, there’s something grounding about the “inconvenience” of domesticity — cooking, eating together, tending the garden, hanging the wash. When we can shift gears and enjoy these activities (instead of wishing we were checking our email), we slow down to the rhythm of our biology, letting home’s “chores” nourish us.

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