Laundry Day
After Sam Caruso’s father enlisted in the Navy, Sam, and his mother, Josie, moved in with his grandparents, Nonno Pete, and Nonna Carla. Sam cherished living in the house on 102nd Street with his mom, grandparents, and two aunts.
The house resembled others in the neighborhood, with white-washed stucco walls and a red adobe tile roof. One of Sam’s favorite spots was the covered front porch, providing a cool refuge from the hot summer sun.
From the porch, Sam enjoyed watching his grandfather tend to the garden. Whether pushing a lawn mower or working in the garden bed, Nonno Pete always wore a brown felt hat and suspendered trousers.
Sam keenly observed the daily hustle and bustle of the 102nd Street household. There was always something happening, making each day exciting. Laundry day was especially memorable.
"Come on, it's time to get up. I’ve got laundry to do," his mother called from outside the bedroom.
"Okay, mom," Sam replied, stretching beneath the cozy covers.
"Pull the sheets and pillowcase from your bed and bring them to the back porch," she instructed.
Sam quickly put on his slippers and tied his bathrobe closed with its blue and white cord. He grabbed the rumpled bed sheets and, with a tug, pulled them free.
"Put the sheets in the pile in front of the washing machine with the other white clothes," his mother said.
Every Monday morning, the laundry routine began with piles of linens and clothes waiting their turn. The process was methodical, never deviating from week to week.
While waiting for the laundry to start, Sam sat at the kitchen table, observing the ritual on the service porch where his grandmother’s new electric washing machine stood.
"Can I help you, Mom?" Sam offered.
"Yes. After I hang the sheets on the line,” she replied, submerging the bed linens into the washing machine tub.
Hanging clothes to dry was a part of the ritual that Sam particularly enjoyed.
Nonno Pete had cleverly rigged a clothesline for drying clothes. A retractable cotton line stretched between Sam’s grandparents' house and the nearby picket fence. Along the driveway, two long wooden poles with notches lay ready to lift the clothesline, allowing the wash to dry in the afternoon sun.
"When will the wash be finished?" Sam asked as the machine completed its final spin cycle.
Once the washing machine had stopped, Sam watched as his mother pulled the wet sheets out and placed them into a wicker basket. Then, it was Sam’s turn to follow through with the second part of our weekly ritual. He would raise the wooden notched poles that lifted the laundry to dry.
"Look, Mom," Sam exclaimed, placing a board under the line to lift the wet linen. The sheets look like ship sails."
Back in the house, the sound of his mother and grandmother’s chatting floated from the kitchen. Outside, as Sam sat on the service porch stoop, he watched the white linen sheets flapping in the sunshine against the backdrop of a clear, luscious blue sky.
