Other People's Laundry

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life: examined is an invitation to get curious, a compendium of ideas, thoughts, and questions about living a creative, intentional life.

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Paço de Arcos, Portugal

Growing up in Southern California, it was normal, at least for a while, to hang your clothes outside on a line to dry them. 

I don’t remember when we got a clothes dryer, I was still a kid, but I remember that we regularly used the dryer once we had it.

In reality, we likely still hung clothes on the line taking advantage of the plentiful San Diego sunshine to dry the clothes and keep the electricity bill down. 

We probably picked up our mis-matched washer and dryer cheap from someone who traded up—or through some barter situation. We were a thrifty family without a lot of money; we excelled at bargain-hunting.

Both machines lived in the garage, and I still remember the clunk…clunk… sound of sneakers going round and round in the dryer. 

In our neighborhood, hanging clothes out to dry was normal. Then it wasn’t. 

As the years went on, more people started getting dryers—personal dryer ownership not being the norm probably seems antique to most Americans. Just typing that makes I feel like I’m writing about the Eighteenth century even though this was just mere decades ago. 

Progress? 

The last place I lived in San Diego, a cute little Spanish courtyard complex, had the usual list of HOA rules and regulations. 

One of those rules, which is in force everywhere in housing developments, communities large and small, and even certain municipalities, was the edict against drying laundry outside. This, in a city that seduces residents and visitors alike with year-round sunshine. 

We are a wasteful species choosing appearances over energy conservation and practicality. We’d rather have an unsullied view than choose the sustainable option, as our planet suffers under the weight of our hunger to consume all things. 

Back in Time

Living in Portugal is like stepping back in time to simpler days.

I don’t wax nostalgic, really ever, but I do feel wistful about those days that were long and warm, especially now with midwinter’s chill settling in bone-deep.

Then, it felt like we had a lifetime in front of us to make up games, tell stories, and run around with the neighborhood kids stopping only when dark descended, and mom’s voice would ring out: 

Shhhhhaaannnaaaaa! Kennnnnyyyyyy! Diiiiinnnnneeerrrrr!

As the street lights buzzed on with a flicker, then a glow, my brother and I would emerge from whatever corner of our respective canyon playgrounds waving and shouting to friends as we all scattered in different directions toward our homes. 

Indeed, that was a lifetime ago.

Out to Dry

In Portugal, nearly everyone hangs out their laundry to dry. This is not a metaphor; there is something to be learned from other people’s laundry. 

There is no shame in Portugal about visible laundry.

Knickers of all sizes and types are on display, but I imagine the frillier stuff hangs coyly in the bathroom so nosy neighbors won’t be able to confirm what they think they know. 

It would be a travesty not to use the Portuguese sun’s free energy and superior drying prowess. Manicured lawns and strip malls? F-that! We are busy saving money and drying our clothes! 

One of my favorite things to do is walk around town and look up.

Clothing, linens, and reusable shopping bags, suspended over rusty balcony railings, flap in the breeze like lazy birds on taut wires dangling over the cobblestones below. 

Seeing Red

One can discern, from the goods on the lines, who’s skilled at clothing maintenance and who still needs to learn the subtle art of sorting lights and darks. 

Often the line-up of laundry is color-coordinated, as was the woman’s laundry across from my former apartment. She’d hang out dozens of red garments with multi-colored plastic clips on blindingly bright days.

This display was on view from my bedroom window—I’m sure she did this on purpose, knowing red is one of my least favorite colors. 

That hot color blazing in the intense sun made me mildly nauseated; I was probably the only one in the neighborhood who felt this was a provocation, as a bull does a red flag. 

Tonight, as I was walked back from my favorite fruitaria with my friend, Mark, we talked about how much we delight in this usually private interiority being displayed on the exterior for all to see. 

It was this conversation that reminded me I had started this essay nearly a year ago. Stuck on what to write this week, this piece finally gets to sees the light of day.

Mark asked me if I’d seen the photo he posted to Instagram (below) of what seemed to be once-white towels and a table cloth on the line—now a shade of pale pink.

Red sweat pants, the culprit, hanging remorseless right there with them. 

fetchpdx

A post shared by Mark Mularz (@fetchpdx)

Those red sweat pants bleeding their pushy hue onto the white towels is a visual story and the teller could be anyone who’s interested in and sensitive to the every day things around us.

Mark and I both agree that we are laundry-watchers. Not in a creepy way, but in a curious about our neighbors and new country sort of way.

I make up stories about the people who hang the laundry and what their lives are like— without concern for the tale’s veracity. I love that the laundry shows itself so I can continue to tickle my curiosity and imagination.

The Great Equalizer

This is a gross generalization, but I’ve observed a lack of pretentiousness in the Portuguese. I could speculate on why this is, but I’ll save the Portuguese history and economics lesson for someone who’s well-versed in these disciplines.

Living around humans who do not center the world around themselves is refreshing.

Exceptionalism and a sense of entitlement run counter to the values in Portugal.

People aren’t judged on what they wear, drive, etc., here. There’s no pressure to adhere or conform—except, I imagine in high school. But high school is awful everywhere :)

Showy people, the ones who worry about how they appear to others, are rare in Setúbal. It’s different in the capital, but here, down-to-earth and practical wins the day. And I’m so good with that!

Perhaps hanging out one’s laundry, a community-wide endeavor as evidenced by the high level of participation, is the great equalizer.

We all wear clothes, at least some of the time, and we all need to wash and dry them. So who cares if someone sees the innards of our closets? It’s just clothing, not a marker of worth.

How we grow up, the environment we live in, biases our perspective.

I like to question my assumptions about what I think I know and believe; living in a foreign country will help you do that.

A life abroad is not for those who are attached to what they think or a rigid way of doing things because one’s sense of the “right way” will be challenged every day. But I like that!

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Your Turn

Where you live do people hang-dry their laundry, or is it against the rules?

If people don’t, but did, would you consider that smart/gauche/horrible/cool/fill in the blank?

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Favorite Portuguese to English Auto-Translation of the Week:

A menu recommendation:

After a festive court filled with some abuses, opt for something lighter (and very tasty) for your lunch!

—> But will the tasty lunch repair the abuses one withstood in festive court?!?

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