Mrs Washalot

the girl who lived in a washing machine

Another youtube clip, I'm afraid. Found while browsing twitter because I've read all the blogs on my bloglines and I'm feeling too lame to you know, actually participate. Posted by Kim, I don't know how long ago. I find the clip a bit strange and sort of faintly irritating, although I rather like the bit when she snips the button of his shirt. And that he can't see her. Ooh and when she looks out from the machine where she seems to be living. It seems like quite a cool pad.

But I did find it odd at the end that she was lying and possibly living in water. Very wet. Perhaps it's a metaphor for all those girlie emotions. Who knows? Anyways I love all those washing machines. And the clothes swooshing round in them. Very nice indeed.

Added later - I can't stop playing the film clip, it's so dammed catchy and so was looking Lisa Mitchell up on the internerd and she's Australian and she talks about making the video for the song, Coin Laundry on her myspace page - We had to shut the laundrette to the public, obviously, with the film crew all shoved inside and people kept walking up to the door with their big bag of dirty clothes and heartbroken looks on their faces. We had to turn them away. Poor things!

maybe I might try this, or maybe I might not

I've been reading a few new blogs lately and saw this youtube clip at sweet thing(s). It's pretty crazy. 

But if you really want to learn how to do this, have a look at this one which has english instructions and is much slower.

three little kittens

There are so many versions of this children's rhyme, often told as a story, that I think I'm going to have to do a series. In this version, a cheapish book once owned by a girl called Jacinta and published in 1991 by Award publications, London, the kittens start hunting for their mittens when a somewhat cross mother cat says that they are naughty for losing their mittens and shall have no pie. The kittens search the attic, ask a playful puppy and a hen as to the whereabouts of their mittens and then remember that they left the mittens hanging on a bush whilst they picked berries for the pie. Of course. Cats wearing clothes and picking berries.

More trouble follows when they eat their pie wearing said mittens and mother cat is again very cross. The kittens decide to wash their mittens and hang them up to dry, thereby getting back in mother cats good books. Although why she let those naughty kittens eat while wearing mittens in the first place is a mystery to me.

Gain? or SOS?

From here, which I think is one of my new favourite reads. Really, I think this fetishism of domestic labour is on a par with this, only much more glamourous.  "Because when you’re doing household labor, it is of the utmost importance that you are hot, in high heels, and headless." Go and see the rest of the pictures, they'll make you laugh, and then you'll want to put your head on the desk and cry because, dress it up however you like, there is still the bloody washing to do. Week in week out. And probably by you. Even if you work.

Marie Claire March 2005

And laundry 'round here isn't sexy or even pretty. I am lucky to have Mr Helpalot, but he isn't exactly a wife, because he is a man. So even when I'm working outside the home and he isn't, I still seem to spend a lot of time putting washing through. Not all of it, but a fair bit of it.And let me not even start on the drying of clothes on clothes racks over winter. I just can't go there yet. But I will, you can be sure of that.

a week's work for a housewife?

I've just discovered after moseying around Flickr that you can search Life and end up here.  Oh. my. goodness. hours. and. hours. of. fun. This is my favourite. She looks so happy. For more than a few moments I feel envious and wish I didn't have to go back to work next week and could live in that moment in time and place and class when modern was shiny and new, not a whole lot of stuff in landfill and when mothers (mostly) stayed at home with their children. Then I slapped myself.

The caption reads "Housewife Marjorie McWeeney w. broom amidst symbolic display of her week's housework at Bloomingdale's store incl. 35 beds to be made, 750 items of glass & china, 400 pieces of silverware to wash, 174 lbs. of food to prepare, some of 250 pieces of laundry."

It was taken in New York, NY, US, in June 1947. Already I'm asking herself why she made every body's bed. Although if the truth be told, I do most of the bed making around here. It all looks a bit neat and there certainly isn't enough laundry for five people for a week. I do rather like her washing machine though. As an object of beauty. Not as something I'd like to use. Although I do imagine that one would develop awesome back and arm muscles working that mangle.

new washing machine

Well. We did go out and buy a new washing machine. And quite lovely it is too. The washing seems to slosh around gently. The spin sounds like a well mannered jet rather than a clunky old car on a dirt road. I have been using it quite alot. Especially since I've been on holidays. And the only moment I've had that was a little snarky was when I was hanging washing out one night while G was away and I was thinking, he's in Queensland and here I am in the bloody freezing cold doing everything, including hanging washing out the night before because I have to get Grace to childcare by 7.45am so I won't be late for my shrink appointment. And we've run out of clean clothes. Then I  looked up at the frostily beautiful night sky, went inside, got warm and got over it.

There are lots of things to like about the new washing machine. It lights up. It doesn't shred my clothes. It has an approved wool cycle and a handwash cycle, so I may never ever have to get my hands wet ever again. It's really easy to pull the wet washing out into a basket on the floor. The only thing I'm not loving the unrenovated laundry, but I have visions for the future. And most days it does look more ordered than this.

As might be able to see in the above photo, I also learned that it is important not to add too much detergent or washing determent as Grace calls it. She loves the new washing machine too and is always keen to add the determent and push the button. Or all of the buttons. And climb into the machine. Sigh. But we do love the machine.

waiting for the washing to be done is the good bit

So. Last week our washing machine stopped working. Instead of agitating, it made this pitiful sick sound. We discovered this late on Saturday, so Sunday morning I took my weeks washing, the sheets and bits and bobs for Grace and Gerard to the Laundromat. Via the trash and treasure market (oh the joy of wandering around by myself). It was not a totally unpleasant experience. Especially once I'd got the washing in the car, found somewhere to park, found somewhere to get sufficient change for three machines, lugged the washing out of the car, placed it in the washing machines. The next bit was good, I took some photos, read the paper, ate an early lunch (Lebanese lamb pastry, yum).

Then, taking the wet washing out of the machines, I realised that wet washing takes up more room than dry washing and my baskets weren't really big enough. D'oh! Put it back in the car and headed home. And stood outside hanging three loads of washing on the line all at once while fielding questions and requests from Grace and fearing that I'd never actually get the washing on the line by the end of the day. I did, but it all felt more rushed, more time pressured than it rationally should have.

It cost twelve dollars to do the washing. I can see how a washing machine would pay for itself fairly quickly. Which probably explains why most people have one and the laundromat is not overrun with people trying to save money by using it. Anyway, after some discussion we decided not to fix the old machine, as we intended to replace it with a front loader in the near future anyway. So we are going shopping for a new washer tomorrow. Oh the excitement! Front loader! Big! Efficient! Water wise! No lint! Clean clothes!

the ironing board goes in the kitchen

You know how it is with a new house, you fiddle and fuss, nothing seems automatic. For example, the ironing set up. Now I never actually thought that I'd once again become someone who irons, but in my middle age, I have. I think it's because my work clothes are all a bit on the scruffy side at the moment (wardrobe crisis approaching like a freight train on speed) and I have this delusion that ironing them makes them less so. Something along the at least her clothes are clean, mended and pressed lines. Which I suppose given the global economic crisis, I could probably translate into a virtue. Except that I have a secure job. In a growth area during times of recession. Which my customers, the unemployed (and often better dressed), remind me about fairly frequently. Weird that.

Anyway, the ironing system. Clothes to be ironed are hung on the rail that goes across the door into the laundry and logic would have it that I would keep the ironing board and iron in the laundry and iron in the (so called) sunroom. Using the rail to hang my freshly pressed clothes on. Like I used to in the old house. But the sunroom here is really very small and poky. The power point is inconvenient and there is no overhead light. G has fixed a lamp behind the fridge, but it's more of a don't trip light than task lighting. So, when I started sewing again, I tried ironing in the kitchen, or in front of my computer desk  which was very squashy but next to my sewing table. I could go either way when sewing but the kitchen has started winning for the weekly iron. I can leave clothes on the back of chairs. There is water and a power point. And light. So now the iron and ironing board just live there all the time now. Catching the morning light and the sense of ease that makes me feel at home.

what remains

I've noticed in more than a few press photos of towns destroyed by the Black Saturday fires, the upright and charred remains of the hills hoist. The outline clearly marking that here, here is a spot someone used to stand with a basket of wet washing and hang it out to dry. Perhaps looking towards the bush and the birds and animals that lived there, taking in the scents of a damp morning. That this person would come and gather the washing in again. Maybe in winter it wasn't even dry yet and had to be spread in front of the fire or heater to dry.

I find this one particularly poignant. All around is utter devastation. As we all know now, it was savage. And yet here is a basket of plastic pegs. Apparently unscathed.  A basket of ordinary plastic pegs. I hope the people here are OK. And that this place will one day soon know the numbing routine of domestic life with it's boredom and pleasure. Although I can't imagine that any washing hung out here would stay clean and non-gritty. Not yet.

new house, new laundry

I can barely remember when I was here last. Of course I keep meaning to come back. It's not as if I don't have anything laundry related to whinge about. The new laundry is a poxy painted red brick, not the sparkling white rendered brick I had planned. We just didn't have time to do it before we moved. Laundries being low on the priority list, because one doesn't actually live in the laundry. The washing machine has sprung a new leak, or has become more obvious because of the slope of the floor. And we tend to forget to take the plug out of the sink, resulting in big floods. But that would be because the new sink is stainless steel and useful, as opposed to the concrete sink at the old house which was really just a mould farm.

What got me back here though was chancing upon this laundromat on the way home the other night. I just love it. In a I'm glad I have a washing machine at home kind of way. Still sometimes I think it would be nice to have to sit somewhere for a while while your washing washed. Read a book. Watch the world go by. A fantasy really, because I'm sure in reality it would be a drag. Except when you're camping. Then it's good.

Anyway. There's a basket of washing that's been sitting on the washing machine for two days waiting to be folded and put away. And it's all mine. How lazy is that?