My iphone was in my hand before the thought was truly formulated in my mind. My mother was not one for people flaunting their housework, so to speak, and she had her only little Sarah Eileen Grismore crusade against organized and competitive Monday washing. Given her age and  locale in a small village, that was she came to know Monday’s activity when a girl.

That is not to say that Mother did not like the smell of sun-dried clothes; she really appreciated it and I will often throw a pillow case outside to quickly soak up some sun. She did not, however, like to see clotheslines sited prominently in yards where everyone could see them without trying. It also irked her to remember a neighbor who literally trotted on Wash Monday to get her clothes out first. I don’t know when Grandma washed, but I think it was more flexible, taking into consideration what she had planned to do, what she wanted to do, how she felt and the, uh, Indiana weather.

All this is just churning around in my memory as half story/half the atmosphere of those years with Mother.  I find myself grinning without any specific incident in mind – and at times, grimacing. You know, the kind of remark that stretches out: “Yes, Mother . . . does it really matter . . . Can we just not talk about it this time?” Well, no, if Mother wanted to talk about it, we were going to talk about it.

In later years, going on a car trip through the countryside – especially the Amish countryside – on a Monday was not what you wanted to do.

On the other hand, when Der Bingle and I lived in Homeowners Association suburbs, she was irate to read through the rules, including the one about hanging washing outside. Good God, did these people have no true class? Pretending clothes on a line was uncouth was a slap in the face of all our pioneer ancestors.

See, I’m still churning – so let’s get to the butter. I live in a small town –  in the thick of it, warts and all and I opened my front door to see laundry on the line across the street. Actually, they have no backyard because it is a corner house, and on a busy street. I suppose at first she would have rolled her eyes and then decided that, hey, it was towels and people were going to be scruffed up after baths that night in the scent of rough sunshine instead of the fragrance of dryer sheets. She would probably have adapted her views to have negative feelings about “more sophisticated people” driving by. Now, if it had been underwear . . . Well . . . I . . . don’t . . . know.