The Big Wash

Doing the manic Big Wash today--all the sheets, blankets, towels, comforters... The Empress threw a hissy fit this morning about her subjects' squalid living conditions, of which they seem quite fond.

Of the Big Three, the Big Wash is probably the least dangerous. The Big Clean usually involves ranting, raving, moving furniture, hauling black trash bags to the dumpster, and staying up half the night until there is a place for everything, and everything in its place.

The Big Cook rarely involves ranting, just making way too much food, and the results are never guaranteed. There's never enough Tupperware with matching lids and bottoms, either.

The Big Wash just makes it very tough to open the refrigerator or get out to the patio. We have one of the teeny tunnel laundry rooms obviously designed by a man. You can't walk through it if the dryer is open, let alone if there are heaps of dirty blankets and towels piled on the floor. After an episode of the Big Wash, no one ever wants to carry the clean, folded laundry back upstairs. No one can even imagine the concept of putting it away in a linen closet or the bathroom cabinet. So it just sits there adding to laundry room congestion. If you are a maternal sort you begin to wonder if the guys ever did put clean sheets on the beds, or if they are just sleeping on the mattress.

In the middle of the Big Wash my mind drifted to soft and puffy t-shirts all ready to be tie-dyed during summer art camps. I started running through my mental catalog of tie-dye techniques. It must be a memory year-end review to avoid forgetting something that I won't need for another six months due to lack of thought time. When I quit reviewing how to sew a lining into a vest, I quickly forgot the tricky technique. That worries me even though I haven't needed to line a vest for fifteen years. I always worry when I realize I've forgotten who sang "Ode to Billy Joe", because I'm sure some radio station will call me to ask that trivia question. If you need to win a million dollars and the keys to a brand new Corvette as much as I do, you can't afford to forget.

When the boys were much younger we used to have impromptu backyard tie-dye celebrations in the heat of the summer. All their buddies would ride over on bikes with their dads' white undershirts. We would tie-dye and spray-dye shirts on the driveway, and hang the shirts on hangers from tree branches. We would have rubber band fights, too. If you are feelin' groovy, I put a link to the Rit Dye site on the sidebar. It has cool variations on tie-dye shirts.

One thing about using Rit in the middle of the winter: If you are using the stovetop method with powder Rit, don't turn on your exhaust fan. The powder gets sucked up, and you wind up with a groovy, stained range hood.

As long as I'm in helpful hint mode, I don't recommend melting crayon shavings inside egg cartons in the microwave. It is quite scary when the microwave bursts into flames. Plus, you end up getting a new microwave for Christmas instead of something fun.

Some day I'll tell you how NOT to melt the Rubbermaid spatula into the Rice Krispy treats. Then you will understand about the Big Cook!

P.S. Bobbie Gentry.