Dirtbag Beauty Secret: Laundry Day

Back when I lived in an apartment, my roommate and I took great pleasure in stringing our wet laundry up in our small kitchen and living room. Socks and underwear hung on the racks of the dishwasher we never used. Sweatshirts draped over the backs of chairs, and everything else hung from a maze of p-cord tied to one door hinge, clipped to a #4 Black Diamond Camelot stuck between the refrigerator and the wall, then tied again to our bookshelf.

The Laundromat was down a hill from our apartment, and the quarter-mile walk back with armloads of wet laundry was more fun if we did it together. Usually we would find something dropped from our adventure the next day: a sock in a gutter, or a thong in the middle of the road. We would play music as we constructed the laundry maze, and then dance (usually to Prince’s Raspberry Beret) admiring our colorful t-shirts, underwear, and bras. We enjoyed playing house together, and our laundry maze signified the end of a satisfying afternoon off from work

But when I moved into the Eurovan, I started using the drier, and doing laundry immediately became less fun. Waiting for my clothes to dry was a lonely task; folding my laundry in the Eurvan was boring.  Not to mention the driers sometimes melted my synthetic garments.

So, like many people living this lifestyle, I rarely did laundry. Avocado and mustard stains on my shirt? Who cares. The permanent scent of BO under my arms? I'm not the only one. My dirty laundry piled up behind the driver's seat of the Eurovan, and I dug through it daily, searching for something to wear.
 

Then, one beautiful day in Joshua Tree, laundry suddenly became fun again. My friend Marian decided to take a rest day and wash her clothes. I went climbing, but Marian selflessly did some of my laundry too.

While Marian did our laundry my partner and I climbed some of my favorite classics in the park: Sail Away, Dog Leg, North Overhang Bypass, and Mikes Books. Marian made phone calls, filled out job applications, took a shower and did laundry. I wandered back to camp that night glowing, as usual, from a great day of climbing, and found Marian and her partner Geoff already making dinner.

“Look at the van,” Marian said, dancing around the fire to the Devil Makes Three, which was playing from the I-Pod and mini-speakers on the picnic table. 

The Eurovan, strategically laced to Geoff’s truck with retired climbing rope, was drying our laundry. Colorful socks, underwear, t-shirts, pants and bras fluttered on the light evening breeze between the two vehicles. 

“Marian, it’s beautiful,” I said, beginning to limbo, and then dance, among the clothing. I vowed to always do laundry with her in the future. 

Photos Courtesy of Geoff Schellens and Ruth Craven