Laundry

I’m sitting in the living room of the apartment under one (of two) beautifully ornate chandeliers and surrounded by piles of laundry. Laundry that is “Italian dirty.” (definition: the kind of dirty that is so dirty that you can’t possibly wear that garment again without offending anyone.) I’m not sure I ever let our clothes get close to this dirty when back home– except maybe Edwin. And Colin. And maybe Aidan if he’s been near any kind of water/mud source. But still, we tend to wash our far less dirtier clothes more frequently at home. I’m not sure this is such a great practice, now that we’ve experienced a different style of living: “Does it smell? No? Then wear it AGAIN.”

Certainly, the laundry situation has been one of the biggest adjustments we’ve (I’ve) had over here. I have taken to washing what I can by hand, to save time and get through loads more quickly (if that’s possible at 2 hours each load to wash in the machine.) So the hand-washing thing isn’t so bad – many garments even “require” it on their labels. But I find that the water here is frighteningly cold. Like it’s been shipped in from a glacier in Antarctica. It’s surprising to me too, because it is so hot outside (which helps dry the clothes on the line more quickly, thank goodness.) My cold water at home is lukewarm in the summer. Not cold.
Not like the water here. I’m surprised it doesn’t come out in cubes. But then, we *are* in Italy: land among many of no ice. No ice in the drinks. No bags of ice in the grocery store. It’s strange really, when you think about it. It’s not a difficult commodity. Most places have refrigeration now. Water* is a basic element. Maybe I’ll come back and open up a store that stays open all day, is open on Sunday, and sells ice. And good coffee.

In the meantime, I’ll be doing laundry. Lots. Of. Laundry. Because the clothes are Italian Dirty. And we don’t really need to be bringing that kind of souvenir home.

*Freaky thing happened when I was editing this sentence. I went to add the word “water” and through a serious of misplaced fingers, wound up with the letter Omega in it’s place. (I would insert the “Omega” here, but I have no idea how I got it on the screen in the first place.) Life. Water. Alpha. Omega… weird…