Oh, what a glorious spring day! The kind of day where the sun feels like a warm hug from heaven, the rhubarb is stretching toward the light like it’s had its morning coffee, and the birds are holding choir practice in every tree. Days like this always get me thinking—especially about the lost art of the clothesline.
Do you hang your clothes outside to dry? I used to. There’s just something magical about it—something grounding and peaceful. I don’t have a clothesline at the moment, but let me tell you, that will be changing soon. I will hang clothes again, and I’ll love every minute of it!
You see, my love for hanging laundry didn’t just appear out of nowhere. It bloomed in the sunshine of my childhood. I remember standing next to my mom on warm spring and summer days, handing her clothespins with my chubby little fingers. As I got older, we’d each take an end of the line and work toward each other, laughing and chatting, meeting in the middle like some kind of domestic victory celebration. And when the last sock was pinned, we’d head inside for a cool drink—Kool-Aid for me, a Coke for her. Simple, sweet moments. Precious.
After I turned about eight or nine, Mom’s health declined and those moments grew fewer, but they stayed with me. They’re stitched into my heart like patches on a beloved quilt. We had our share of hard times, sure. But I try to keep my eyes on the sunny memories—the ones that smell like sun-dried sheets and lilacs on the breeze.
When the bad days sneak in (and they do sneak in, don’t they?), I take myself to my happy places: the garden or the kitchen. I weed. I plant. I bake something that makes the whole house smell like comfort. I remember the love, the laughter, the good. I acknowledge the pain—because ignoring it never works—but then I plant joy in its place.
So if you’re feeling heavy today, I encourage you to do the same. Bake a pie. Weed in the garden. Make soup. Hang your memories out in the sun like laundry on the line, and let the breeze carry away the sorrow.
You are growing. You are healing. And you, dear friend, are doing beautifully.
With open arms and a big ol’ hug,
Your friend,
Kathy