(Besides my husband’s hair.)
I believe I’m the only person in the house who cleans out the dryer lint. It’s not that I haven’t told everybody else to do it. They just never think about it.
Since I’m the one who does most of the laundry around here I guess it doesn’t really matter.
When I pull off the lint, I think of these things:
- Why dryer lint is so gray when our clothes are so colorful? What happened to the brilliant blues, the glaring greens, the vivid violets and the radiant reds?
- My mother-in-law used the old lint to get a grasp on the new lint, sort of like velcro. Without thinking, I do the same thing. When my mother noticed me doing it she thought it was brilliant, and turned it into a parable about how we can all learn something from other people.
- Uses for dryer lint: The boy scouts used it to make fire starters for use on their campouts. In an old Washington Post article about how people are penny-pinchers, someone mentioned using it to stuff pillows.
- And, finally, I think about how all our clothes are getting thinner and thinner. Every time they go through the dryer they lose a little of their mass. Eventually they’ll just vanish. Poof! (Some of my husband’s t-shirts are well on their way.)
And that makes me think of the morning newspaper, which is also getting smaller with each passing week. Let’s see. Sections that have ceased to exist as independent entities: Book World, health section, home section. Comics have gone from three pages to two, and Sunday funnies have gone from two sections to one. They tried to reduce the size of the weather map to fit on a postage stamp but there must have been serious backlash. It’s back to a legible format.
I think one day I’ll go out to pick up the paper and when I grab the plastic bag lying in my driveway—poof!—nothing there.