-^-for posterity-^-

living in a new house presents new challenges. this house is much smaller and older. (read older=a lot more bugs) at night you can hear some large animals moving around just above the ceiling. there must be a small crawl space between that thin, wooden paneling and the tin roof. the animals move things around and make unnerving scratching noises. more than once i’ve imagined the paneling giving way and me ending up with a overgrown rat running around on my bed in a pile of dust and wood scraps.

the bathroom is small and there is no shower. there is a faucet which produces water. the water fills a small, red bucket shaped like a trashcan. to take a shower you must ladle water out with a plastic bowl. i always start with my head and the water’s always unbearably cold for some reason. the shower’s are quiet, like a bath, but you’re standing, like a shower so you’re inevitably confused.

in this new house there isn’t someone who does laundry. in the old house, there was a meek lady who happily cleaned my clothes for a monthly rate. there’s a washing machine in the old house which i’m not allowed to use. i can only appreciate it vicariously through the laundry lady.

i’m going to saigon in a couple of days and need clean clothes. i have been living like a college student or a vagrant. my clothes has piled up on every available surface like i’m claiming it as a dog would. i come home and undress as i walk to the bedroom. my clothes is tossed on anything available.

here, we don’t have a washing machine. i’ve hand washed things before, but never in mass. this was an experience.

i started at noon in a tiny bathroom that doubled as a sauna; the tin roof and the red bricks all seemed to radiate heat. i found two buckets and filled one with soapy water and one with clean water. i fell to my knees and revered my clothes. i singled out clothes and scrubbed them. i scrubbed them against themselves. i wrung them in my hands. i wrenched them against the side of the buckets. i scratched at them.

i’d seen an old washboard sitting in my grandmother’s house when i was a child. i understood what it was used for but never saw one in use except for as an instrument accompanying a bluegrass band. i could have used one today. i could have used something to scrub my clothes against except for a blue, plastic bucket. i never appreciated how hard people had to work who clean their clothes by hand. i was sweating after cleaning only one pair of pants. jeans take a mighty effort: you have to wring them out and dip them and twist them and all while their soaked through with sudsy water. they’re heavy and you can never get the soap out because i use too much of the stuff. you see, i love the bubbles. they magically grow out of the water like little mountains and little planets and are full of air and barely exist. i feel like that sometimes.

i also never appreciated how much you dote over shirts; how much you think about pants.

“when was the last time i wore these pants? oh, yes, when i was invited out to dinner last week. how did they end up with such a large stain on them? oh, yes, i spilled the soy sauce and made a fool of myself. chuckle. oh, this shirt. i bought this recently in thailand. wonder what i’ll wear when my parents come out here?”

i finished washing all of my clothes by about two thirty. i was soaked through with sweat so i washed the clothes i was wearing. i washed them and then took a shower. i took a quiet, long shower and it was wonderful. i was clean, my clothes were clean and my forearms were aching.