Just recently my mother and I celebrated our birthdays together. On Feb. 6, we were both born, ten minutes and 27 years apart, and for the past 43 years we always celebrate with time alone together.
She is one of those mothers who could have ten different projects going on in the house, but you were guaranteed that the laundry would always smell fresh, socks were bleached and would all match, sheets a crisp pristine white, shirts folded with exact precision or ironed and neatly put away.
My mom is creative, enjoys playing piano, firing stained glass, cooking, sewing, the list goes on.
Though seasons change for her and projects and interests are re-defined, I can honestly say that doing Laundry beautifully has been a constant throughout my lifetime. She has confessed to me that her mother, my Grandmother, was an iron-o-holic and would iron everything from blue jeans to underwear on a daily basis. Perhaps that’s where her love of laundry done well and done right came from.
There is something constant about laundry, which transcends generations. Something about it we pass on from each generation to the next. No matter how fancy our machines are, the care we take in sorting, folding, ironing and putting away can either be done recklessly and haphazardly, or with grace, dignity and attention to detail. I’m forever thankful my mom chose the latter.