Our laundry was washed by hand yesterday by Florence, a woman whose husband died just a few months ago. At the time he died, she was pregnant with her now four-month-old son. She earns her living by washing other peoples’ clothes by hand.
I brought a bottle of Tide by which to do laundry but the woman was confused about how to use such a thing so that bottle will stay with Lauren.
Our laundry hung in the sill air most of the day. That is until the line broke. Then our laundry lay in the red dust. Luckily Lauren had begun the process of brining things in for the night to protect it from the morning dew. Whew, our undies were safe.
As I write this morning, the tiny duplex is littered with our clothing. Bed posts support capris of many colors and shirts that will be worn wrinkly, door tops hold the heavier towels of varied sizes, the living room furniture is draped with a plethora of odds and ends in multiple layers. I won’t mention what’s hanging from the door knobs.
Still no water.
I brought a bottle of Tide by which to do laundry but the woman was confused about how to use such a thing so that bottle will stay with Lauren.
Our laundry hung in the sill air most of the day. That is until the line broke. Then our laundry lay in the red dust. Luckily Lauren had begun the process of brining things in for the night to protect it from the morning dew. Whew, our undies were safe.
As I write this morning, the tiny duplex is littered with our clothing. Bed posts support capris of many colors and shirts that will be worn wrinkly, door tops hold the heavier towels of varied sizes, the living room furniture is draped with a plethora of odds and ends in multiple layers. I won’t mention what’s hanging from the door knobs.
Still no water.
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