Monday, Monday
Is there such a thing as a typical Monday? As I was growing up under the roof of Lena and Raymond, you could have set your clock on my Mom’s Mondays.
I did start out the day getting a load of laundry going. Yup, sorted those darks from the lights just as Mom taught me. 
What I was missing was the multiple piles of clothes resembling mushrooms on the floor. There was no single load to be done. It was all or nothing. The first thing mom did was fill a large dish pan for the white socks that needed to be soaked with a bit of lye soap. The hoses were hooked up to fill the washing machine with the modern convenience of having a hot water faucet. No more heating water on the wood-fired cook stove. By the time Mom had the washing machine and tubs set up, those socks that had been soaking would be rinsed to join the first batch of while-colored clothes.
There was a rack that held two square aluminum tubs. When the first batch of the whites were done washing, the wringer on the machine was released from its pin. The wringer swiveled to allow the clothes to be feed into the wringer right into the first tub of cold rinse water. Using a plunger to work the rinse water through the clothes, it was then fed into the wringer and into the second rinse tub, and from there into the wicker clothes basket. Mom’s girls were ready for the trip to hit the clothesline. As soon as the first batch was out of the washing machine, it was filled with the next pile of light colored clothes. This was the process of washing whites first and progressing through the upcoming piles of clothes. No clean water for each batch, but there may have been extra water and soap added as the wringer did allow water to go with clothes from one step to another. I don’t think I need to elaborate the quality of the wash water by the time the rag rugs were washing. This is how each farm wife worked her whiles on the Monday wash. It was important to get the clothes into the wringer just so for a smooth consistent pressure. The wringer didn’t wait for anyone. Once it grabbed onto the clothes it was not stopping. If it was a bad feed, it would spring the wringer. Not a good thing to bog down the process.
If I had ever had any doubts as to how other 
households did the Monday wash, my doubts were alleviated when I would stay at my Grandmother Laura’s farm. Yup, out came the tubs and the process was the same.
Even after households had automatic washers there was a suds saver tub that allowed water to be reused for the next batch, but nothing in comparison to the “good old days.”
As I did mention, I washed a load of dark clothes this morning. No water was reused in the process. While the automatic washer did its thing through the cycles, complete with releasing fabric softener in a timed sequence, I was heading to the porch with a cup of hot coffee. My time was minimal from start to finish. With the humidity and dew point being extremely high today, the clothes dryer was kicked in gear. The clothes would have taken forever on the clotheslines. By no means a good drying day.
You may often hear me comment how sweet I feel my life is here on Stauffer Avenue. I learned housekeeping skills from Mom and Grandma. I do remember the times when there was no electricity or running water while I worked at the elbows of these strong women. Never a complaint would be heard from Lena or Laura. Their homes where their families lived were clean and tidy. The bellies from those who stuck their feet under their kitchen tables never went away growling. Cookie jars were kept full, fruit cellars were lined with gleaming jars so meals could be on the tables in a timely manner after they had helped in the dairy barns. Yes, I have such a sweet life while keeping memories close to my heart.
In life, please remember to give and have no memory of it, or take and remember it always.