Clotheslines

A post by a new follower hit me emotionally hard yesterday. Read it when you have the time; it’s very good. It was about receiving her grandmother’s clothesline recently. She mentions that she bought the house next door to her grandmother, and I couldn’t believe the coincidence.

I grew up with my grandparents. Both of my parents worked, so I spent every weekday with Nana and Pop until the age of 5, then every weekday afternoon with them after school until I was 12 or 13. They are the biggest, brightest, and most memorable part of my childhood. I look back on the afternoons playing outside, selling tomatoes out front with my grandfather (yes, for those of you that lived in my town, my grandfather was The Tomato Man on Nichols), watching The Price is Right with him, making cookies with Nana, and even having the soot practically burned off my feet at the end of the day when Nana “washed” them in scalding hot water, fondly.

As an adult, I look back, and I realize how amazing it all was. How many kids grew up like I did? Even the shadow of my parents’ divorce can’t deny how wonderful it was.

As I became a teenager, I did what most teenagers did, and that was to be extremely annoyed with most adults. My grandmother drove me CRAZY. She meant well, but, to be honest, she was nosey. LOL. She couldn’t help it. It was just her nature. My grandfather was still regarded as the most amazing man I’d ever met, so while I wasn’t annoyed with him, I was sometimes annoyed with the fact that I was missing out on time with my friends because I had to be at their house. At one point, my family and I even moved in next to them. My grandmother watched us like a hawk from the comfort of her bedroom window. She was the neighborhood eyes and ears, “spying” on everyone from the various windows of her house. I laugh about it now. It’s actually endearing. But back then, it irked everyone to no end.

We ended up moving back to our family home just a few months later (that’s another horror story all together, and one not for today). I know it bummed Nana out, but it was best for my mom, my sister, and me. We still saw them every weekend when my dad had visitation rights. That lasted until I was about 17 or 18 when I decided I didn’t want to see my dad much, but I still went and visited them on my own when I wasn’t working weekends and had no other plans. They appreciated whatever time I gave them; I didn’t realize that until years later. They were always so happy to see me.

At the age of 20, my sister and I, and our respective families, once again moved into the house next door to my grandparents. They were delighted. My grandmother could once again keep tabs on us to her heart’s content. She watched from her windows. She’d call the moment I got home, and she’s always ask, “Are you home?” which made me laugh and irritated me at the same time. Of course I’m home, Lady; I’m answering the phone, aren’t I? Sometimes I’d say “no” when she asked, and that always got her giggling.

She’d come by and ask me what time I got home the night before. Don’t think I didn’t see you watching through your window, Nana! You know I got home at 3. Heh heh. I never called her out on it, but no matter what time it was, she was watching. She’d ask about the guy she saw leave late at night (Uh, yeah, he’s just a friend. Yeah, that one too.), she wanted to know who owned the silver car that was parked in the driveway nights-on-end for months (I don’t think she ever did get to meet him; I wish I had taken the time to introduce them), she wondered what I did out so late at night. I usually ignored most of the questions or changed the subject. Surprisingly, I introduced her to Harry very early on. When I did, she said to me, “Make sure you feed him.” Harry turned to me and said, “I like her.”

I’m glad I introduced them as early as I did because it wasn’t long after, maybe a month or two, when my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. She lived for another 8 months, and even that was too long in my opinion. She was in awful pain for those 8 months, and it killed me to see her like that, so weak, so small, so helpless. Nana was fierce. She was a firecracker, that one. The cancer made her meek and timid and quiet. Every time I saw her, it broke my heart.

I think about her every day. Every single day. Most of the time, I remember some trivial thing she said or did, and it makes me smile. Other times, I’m left a bit empty knowing she never met my daughter. She would have absolutely adored Miss Ellie. Another me. It would have tickled her to see how alike my daughter and I are. My younger sister says that Ellie is Nana reincarnated; she has some of her mannerisms for sure. I don’t know if I believe that, but it’s a nice thought nonetheless.

And I think about clotheslines, which is what this post is supposed to be about. I tend to run at the mouth when talking about my grandparents because I simply want to share as much as I can about them. Please pardon my excessiveness.

One of the best long-going memories of my grandmother is about her clotheslines. She had at least 4 outside and another 2 or 3 in her basement. She loved those damn things. The Big One, which started at the top of the back porch and ran all the way to a 30-foot pole at the center of the property boundaries, was her favorite. You could hang a few sets of sheets on that sucker. And you could hang your clothes standing right on the porch. It was used daily for years. There were two more at head-level that ran half the property boundary, and a forth strung in the yard between two trees. The ones in the basement were hung between basement poles and plumbing pipes. If there was a spot you could hang one, she did.

As a little girl, I’d watch her hang the clothes out every day. I’d hold the clothespin bag for her. As an adult, living next door, I’d watch her from my kitchen window. As a child and an adult, I’d sometimes stand under the sheets on The Big One and run through them. I loved doing that. I remember the winters, when she still insisted on hanging the clothes outside, bringing them in hard and brittle and crispy, and STANDING THEM UP in front of the heater grate to defrost. I remember everyone sitting around the kitchen table laughing hysterically at the sight of my grandfather’s trousers standing up by themselves.

I have a clothesline in my basement strung up between two poles. I used it every time I do the wash. And I think of her. Simple as that.