Laundry Love

As I was folding laundry earlier this evening, I was reminded of this particular ritual of my childhood which I seldom take the time to think about.  I was transported back to the home I grew up in: the modest but cozy and well-worn house on Eastwood in East Dallas. I picture my mother, sitting on the edge of her and my father’s bed, folding clothes after dinner on a Saturday or Sunday night. The warm glow of the bedside lamp would add a softness to the room, and NPR or classical music on Dallas’ WRR station playing from Dad’s alarm clock radio would be just audible in the background. A cat also might be sitting next to her, its tail tucked contentedly under its legs. As my mother would fold, I would watch as she methodically and carefully tucked the varying corners and sides of the towels and sheets just so.  I was amazed at her ability to make them look perfect; so cared for with loving and gentle hands that the thought of eventually using them made them feel homey. Sometimes I would just sit at the edge of the bed and observe silently, my eyelids closing ever-so-slightly as my body would become more relaxed.  Other times the two of us would chat as I would help, my hands receiving the warmth of the sheets and towels with delight. Mom taught me how to fold my socks into a nifty little ball so that I would never have a sock without a mate, a misfortune I was prone to experiencing at that age (although I will admittedly point out that when folding clothes tonight I came across not one but two socks without a mate). I'd even admire the laundry basket full of tears and plastic edges that stuck out from years of carrying loads of our family's clothes between the laundry room in our garage and my parents' bedroom. At the end of the folding session, Mom would help me carry my own clothes into my room, and show me where to properly place the shared items for the family in the linen closet. 

I’m not sure I ever thanked my mom (and my dad as well, for he has his own lovable quirky laundry-doing methods) for the care she put into making sure our family always had fresh clothes to wear and sheets and towels to share.  Saying so sounds a bit strange, but as I folded tonight something reminded me to give thanks for the time to be present in as mundane a task as laundry. In the hectic life I and many others like me lead,  it is all too easy for me to forget to allow the ordinary to become sacramental. I am thankful for the meditative qualities of even the simplest parts of everyday life.