Who would have thought that I would know something about washing clothes? Certainly not me! And yet, here I am, capable of operating a programmable washing machine, inclusive of making decisions on water temperature according to the type of fabric!
Not long ago, someone “caught” me hanging the washing out, and a comment was made that expressed her surprise. How is it possible that she doesn’t know that I have been doing the majority of the washing over the last decade? I admit I felt the insult.
But that’s too harsh. It wasn’t even an intentional put-down. It just came out of the typical stereo-typing that women do for men & likewise, that men do for women.
But I won’t be delving into the sticky area of women V men. Not today. The subject is washing. And a new washing machine. But is it necessary to read the instructions? Surely a little prior experience will help me through? All of the known buttons are there… except one. The selection button for “woolens” is missing. (Looks like I need to ask my Mum).
Sitting and sharing a cup of tea, my Dad chips in and suggests we don’t truly need a washing machine at all. Raised in the arid lands in a place called Benetook outside of Mildura in the 1920’s & 30’s, he tells us about using a rock.
With Mum reading through the new washing-machine instructions to solve our “woolens” puzzle, Dad proceeds to tell us about his time in Tennant Creek in the 1930’s. He was working the gold-fields and the proud owner of a lumber-jacket. He gave it to the local aboriginals to wash. When it came back, it was as thin as hessian… certainly not a thick lumber-jacket anymore. Which prompted me to comment, “I think we had better stick with the washing machine Dad.”
Washing makes one aware of the weather. A good drying day? I have been told that ironing clothes is therapeutic. That I have never understood.
