What we leave behind

I've been thinking about the things that we pass on to our children. Not so much the neuroses, dysfunction, and bad habits, though those are arguably the most significant contibutions we make to their lives. No, I'm thinking about the heirlooms we pass on. When I was in high school, I got a Hawaiian shirt from my dad which he got when he was in college. That shirt (now departed and much-lamented) got me hooked. Now I wear Hawaiian shirts often -- probably too often for my long-suffering wife, the half of this marriage with all the fashion sense. My son has also acquired the habit. (See above, under neuroses.)

I have something that I plan on giving to both of my children, when the time is right. It's something my mom gave me the day she dropped me off at the beginning of my freshman year of college. Several sheets of paper from a small notebook, handwritten with "Mother Castle's Washing Instructions." I keep them in a letter-sized envelope, and for several years had them tacked above my desk. Now I have them tucked away for safe keeping.

By the time I started college, I had already become mostly familiar with the job of doing laundry. It went like this: take stuff out of the already-sorted laundry baskets (or piles, depending on how things were going) and put it into the washer, then follow it through the dryer to the baskets for folding. (I've already blogged about "glumphing," so I won't belabor it here.) I usually tried to ignore the folding part, but didn't often get away with it.

Now that I was leaving for college, I had to add one more element to all of this: sorting my own laundry. >gulp< I didn't have much that was red, as I recall, so I wasn't too worried about ending up with pink socks. But I did want to keep from turning my white t-shirts from turning a dull grey after being washed with items of clothing in various colors. So my mom wrote out her advice on the matter.

Some gems:
"If you have anything new that is a bright color, wash it only with things you want to turn that color. Especially note -- red things must be washed several times before they stop turning things pink, and even after that I wouldn't trust it with your unders."

"Each group [that you have sorted] must be washed separately -- don't sort them and then wash them together, that would be dumb."

"Load machine 3/4 full loosely -- don't cram it in the machine, that just lets the washer make mud and spread it on all the clothes."

"Never pour bleach right on the clothes -- you're a good kid, but you don't need holy clothes."

On doing an extra rinse for whites that look grey: "You can pay the extra to wash them twice in the washer (once on cold, then the usual way), or you could rinse them by hand -- I guarantee your hands won't melt."

"If possible do not dry anything on 'hot' -- unless (a) the dryer doesn't really mean 'hot' or (b) the clothes are all cotton or (c) you're in a hurry and you don't care that your clothes will come out small enough to fit your little brother and so wrinkled that Goodwill won't take them."

And at the end: "P.S. Do not try to wait and bring all your dirty clothes home at Thanksgiving."

Wouldn't you agree that wisdom such as this needs to be shared?

I have started instructing my son, John, on how to handle the laundry. He's up to loading the sorted laundry, putting in the detergent and fabric softener, starting the load, glumphing, and putting the clean, unfolded laundry in a place that I will trip over it, so it'll eventually get folded. I will make him a fresh copy of "Mother Castle's Washing Instructions," possibly retitling it "Granny Gerry's Washing Instructions" for him, and set him to the task of sorting.

Now, if I can get him to fold and put away the landry, that'd be great. I still try to ignore it.