| Dear Family and Friends, You know, every time I do my laundry these days, I have a greater appreciation for the pioneer woman. I can picture her kneeling on a cold wooden floor, her large, dusty skirt and constricting petticoat billowing around her, as small welts form in her ragged knees and wisps of long hair fall into her face; I can imagine her hands, the rough lines and blisters telling a thousand stories of a lifetime of running a household and I can clearly envision the tired lines under her determined eyes that focus intently on the large bucket filled with sudsy water, the washboard that has spanned generations, and the masses of her family's clothing piling around her. I can appreciate our anscestors more than I ever have before, yet I can also appreciate whomever invented the washing machine and dryer, two inventions that I took for granted before but now feel are the greatest inventions to ever invade our households. Everytime I haven't a single pair of clean underwear left and my dirty clothes are beginning to collect mold in the deep recesses of my closet, I force myself (begrudgingly, I might add) to do my laundry. And, as you have probably have guessed, a washing machine, and, especially, a dryer are unheard of for me these days. So I, the pioneer woman, psyche out my terrified hands and convulsing arms and bring out the small green laundry tub. Lukewarm water splatters in all directions as I fill the tub, the Bulgarian laundry soap suds nearly melting before I can dig my hands in. I have flashbacks of turning all of my socks and underwear pink during my summer at my host family's home when I washed them in the same water I had just washed a red shirt in, and I silently vow not to make the same horrible mistake again. I quickly do the sign of the cross and plunge my hands into the water, attempting to show the clothes who's boss and not let them get the best of me this time. Unlike the women of the past, I do not have a fancy washboard, so I scrub and pull and twist like there's no tomorrow, too afraid to be "timid" any longer. I become the "Human Washing Machine" as I yank on the heavy clothes with all my meager strength and spin them in one direction and then the other. Murky water spreads around me like a contagious disease and I try to be brave in the face of all the ugliness. You know, it's amazing how dirty clothes that look relatively clean really do get! After a few arduous . . . minutes . . . I am convinced . . . . I need a break . . . badly . . . and, so, I tear myself from the mountains of clothes and make my escape, to massage my numb fingers, do arm warmups, and take a deep breath in preparation for the next washing cycle. Now, I know why washing machines sometimes stop mid-cycle! This pulling and twisting, gnashing and gnawing, grasping and stretching goes on for hours as the skin on my hands wrinkles up and my limbs become like a bowls of jello. I wait until the last possible minute for my wash day, so I feel as if I am washing for a whole family of snot-nosed pioneer children and a farming husband who chews tobacco because I have so many clothes to wash. And, when the washing is over, the rinse cycle begins and I commence to wring and rinse, rinse and wring . . . until I think I've got all the water out, but am sadly dissapointed when I flood myself and my entire apartment on my way to the clothes lines on the balcony. I hang clothes like a mad woman, running out of space an clothes pins in a matter of seconds as torrents of water fall around me and flood my balcony. My wet, dirty socks, which seemed so clean before I started my laundry, now squish between my toes and my erratic hair is suddenly matted to my head like a giant skull cap. My mind is plagued with what to wear the next day, since everything worth wearing has just been washed and will certainly not be dry in time . . . I curse myself for not leaving out that one outfit to wear for the sixth time because in Bulgaria you NEVER put clothes in the dirty clothes basket after just one wear! Drying takes awhile, especially as the air becomes cooler, and I have said goodbye to fabric-softened clothes as I struggle to put on stiff clothes that were forced to dry au-natural. The night air blows around me as I hang my mountains of clothes from every conceivable crevice and I shiver as the water seems to seep in to my bones and chill me to my very core. I race from one wire to the next in a giant laundry-hanging marathon and, when I reach the "finish line", I rejoice at having completed the task. I try not to let thoughts of the next washing day ruin my good spirits as I collapse on the couch with an exagerated sigh. Where would we be today without the pioneer woman washing all of the dusty clothes of our ancestors?! I SHUDDER at the thought. Truly, they were worth a little more than we give them credit for! I have come to the conclusion that if I don't come out of the Peace Corps with rough Bulgarian hands and He-Man look-alike arms, I definitely didn't do any justice to either the pioneer woman or to the Bulgarian woman . . . yes, the "powers of the universe" make lanudry day quite an interesting endeavor. Just look out for the rough-skinned, soapy-haired beauty with stiff, ratty clothes with millions of holes in them in two years time and, I assure you, that will be me!!! Love Always, The Bulgarian Laundry Queen |
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