Love and Late Night Laundry

Walking into the mud room tonight, the smell of laundry soap reminds me of Grandma's house on Mondays, how the dryer vent was beside the door, and before you even set foot in her house, you could smell the clean, slightly floral scent of her work.  Grandma always ironed clothing and linens so flat, you could slide them under the door, and sometimes when I use one of the potholders she made, the heat will remind the fabric of that same smell, and there she is.  And there I am.

Tonight I'm sorting through the garbage bags of clothes passed down from Nora's three older girl cousins.  This is how I've dressed her for most of her life, wrapped in fabrics filled with memories and the smell of the different detergents each of my sisters use.

We made a run to Lincoln with Grandma and Grandpa today, picking out eight or so pairs of leggings that will be mixed and matched with the short sleeved shirts she's inherited and a few others bought new today.

When I was a kid, I was asked a lot about when I was expecting the flood--you know, because all of my pants were what we called "high water" pants.  Do you still call them that today?  I've been talking about discourse communities with my comp class, and they'd never heard "gag me with a spoon" before.  The times, they are a' changin'.

What I'm really enjoying right now is the quiet of the house and the sound of the dryer running late into the night, how Nora is sleeping peaceful in her new T. Rex t-shirt, and how everything smells of love.