Let it All Hang Out

Good evening my 2.36 faithful readers! The following is a shameless professional plug, but who's really drawing a line??

Not it.

As part of my jorrrrb - Media Maven of all things soapy at Seventh Generation - I am embarking on a behavioral challenge. It's only fair that I give this a shot because I'm asking all of Ameri-cuh - about 307,006,550 million of you and your closest friends - to do the same.

I'm not talking about baring my soul, here. (Today, anyway.)

I'm talking about airing out my very clean laundry.

Like my sheets, my socks, even my SKIVVIES.

I could have skipped that last part on the line, but I went for all-or-nothing.

I did two loads with Seventh Generation 2x concentrated/HE compatible laundry detergent in white flower and bergamot naturally-derived scent (Deep breath. Not that I have HE machines - but you probably do. Fancy pants.) And agua frio.

Yes.

COLD FREAKIN' WATER. (<---- Did you see that padres? It won't kill you to try it. JUST SAYIN'.)

My (already very low) utility bills will thank me for not using heated water and the dryer.

Mother Earth better thank me, too. She could stop bleeding, splitting, erupting, shaking, crying and generally blowing any day now. I think her citizens would return the love.

Anyclothes, my first attempt was actually quite lovely. (Thank you, Father Sun.)

The experience proved to be quite cathartic. I also felt very productive and responsible.

I suppose this is how my immigrant ancestors felt. Plus the petticoats tickling their booted ankles while hanging laundry on the outskirts of the family's Irish potato field.

It took a few hours for the clothes to dry but I didn't mind. Catching up on True Blood season two was way more important. And I mightmaybemay have taken a few of them down a bit early because I have the patience of a gnat.

But I'll tell you something.

ALL OF MY CLOTHES WERE ACCOUNTED FOR.

The crack whores didn't get to them. Yes, this is a minor concern in my very lively neighborhood whose personality changes from block to block. I live on a good one, but that doesn't mean my neigbors do.

Hangin' laundry, it turns out, inspires my inner Cherokee: Touch my property and you get the Tomahawk. (Then again, maybe that's the only child in me. Tough call.)

Irish + Cherokee = A very competent liver. That's not entirely germane to this particular experience, but I did enjoy a Magic Hat beer today.

In the end, my clothes came out clean. And they smelled like nature. In a good way.

They were stiff and a bit linty from the towels, but that's even more reason to try the Seventh Generation liquid fabric softener.

It was nice to avoid a lint trap. Those are your threads disintegrating, by the way. It was also nice to avoid using a detergent that is PETROLEUM based.

Yes, I said the dirty P-word.

Mother Earth is bleeding out in the Gulf and washing up on the shores of my favorite stomping grounds. (Thank you, Bio Perversity (BP).) So I'll do my part to reduce my petro-dependancy.

Cold water washing and line drying helps this endeavor.

And I'm glad for it. Even if my clothes are a bit stiff.

Perhaps that's why my ancestors used to beat line-drying laundry with brooms??

Whatever. Here's hoping I don't have bees in my britches tomorrow. That would suck. I mean, sting.

And I did all of this with a broken elbow.

What's your excuse?
The Megster