Casalinga

Absolutely nothing makes me feel more like an italian casalinga (housewife) than hanging my laundry out the window to dry.   I learned to hang laundry when I was a child on the farm where, in summer, it dried to a stiff crunch and exuded a glorious smell when taken down.  Some of us still prefer that experience even in the days of dryers, but I must confess that, at home, I often take the easy route to dry clothes.  

There is an art to this particular method of hanging the clothes, however, because the trick is not to drip water excessively on the floor inside and not to drop the garment down into someone else's courtyard two stories below.  This, of course, must be done while stretching as far as possible out the window to put that last pin on the shirt.  My safety net is to put one pin on the garment anywhere to secure it on the line.  Then I mess with it to straighten out the lapels and pockets.  Also, sometimes I go back to it after it has partially dried and rehang it after straightening out some of the wrinkles that my faulty hanging has created.  And then the ultimate reality is there - everyone in the court can see not only what I wear, but how I hang it to dry.  Is it just a slovenly hit or miss job, or am I worthy of the title casalinga of the laundry?  Do they care?  I'm sure not.  But I do.