Every Sunday evening it was the same routine
'Cause Monday was the day for getting clothes clean
We carried buckets of water from the rusty old pump
Filled number three wash tubs ~ no use to grump

A fire was kindled and ready to light
Under the heating tub on Sunday night
Come Monday morning at the break of dawn
Mother and the girls got up with a yawn



The water was heating while breakfast was cooking
We sorted the clothes without hardly looking
Hot water was carried to the Maytag to wash
We'd done it so often, we did it with panache

The wash was done one load after another
Piles were laid on the floor at the direction of Mother
The washer was emptied and cleaned really good
We did all this while eating our food



The whole thing started all over again
When the second washing was ready to begin
Three big tubs now sat on the porch
One for rinsing, one for bluing, and one with starch

For stubborn stains, we used the old washboard
And scrubbed by hand until our knuckles were sore
As each load was done, it was hung on the lines
With coal dust settling that came from the mines



In the summertime, the clothes blew in the breeze
And the work was done with lots more ease
In the wintertime, we washed in the kitchen
And hung clothes in snow - no use a-bitchin'

Looking at the lines filled us with pride
Even in the cold when the clothes were freeze-dried
The hard work was done without distraction
But doing it gave us a sense of satisfaction



When the clothes were dry and taken down
We sprinkled the starched ones and clowned around
They were put in baskets after being rolled
That mountain of laundry was a sight to behold

By the end of the day, the wash was done
With everything folded or neatly hung
Except for the ones that we had sprinkled
All day Tuesday, we ironed out wrinkles



When I was young, I used to daydream
Of when I'd be grown and could do anything
I didn't know then that when I was old
Those memories would be more precious than gold

Kathleen McCoy Eldridge
July 23, 2005
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