Call Me Crazy, But . . .

Cecilia and her siblings inherited Praia de Icarai 291 #1102 from its original owner, their grandmother Vovo Elsa.

The 1950's era apartment building is shaped like the letter U. The outer left side of the letter/building faces the beach and street; an interior courtyard comprises the inside of the letter/building. At what would be the open side of the U shape is the solid grey wall of the adjacent apartment building.

Just off the kitchen is a space that opens to this interior courtyard. Some sixty years ago, the area was designed to accommodate a servant or maid. To the left, a small room with a built-in closet designed for the help is now utility storage. Go there to find hand tools, a propane tank, an ancient floor safe, two cat carriers, and a well-used litter box. To the right is a tiny floor-to-ceiling-tiled space just big enough for a toilet and shower head with floor drain. What was the maid's bathroom is now the go-to spot for recycling, as well as storage of broom, dust pan, squeegee, step ladder, and dirty clothes basket.

Between these two rooms, a covered outdoor balcony overlooks the stuccoed concrete walls and windows of the neighbors from floors 2 through 14: windows opened and closed, plain or ribbed for privacy, transoms, sliders big as patio doors, papered or curtained or vertically blinded. An occasional sturdy air conditioning unit juts from the stucco beneath a window, cooling its room only when the temps are unbearable.

I tell you ALL THIS to set the stage. What I really want to talk about is laundry!

Call me crazy, but one of may favorite things to do in Brazil is laundry.

On this balcony in what was the maid's domain, I could spend hours loading the washer and hanging wet clothes to dry. The washing machine is, of course, printed with directions in Portuguese. This set me back on my heels when I first approached. Pictures and logic saved the day, along with a short course on products from the resident laundress. And so, just like I told each of our sons, when they became seniors in high school and I introduced them to the white enamel box for Laundry 101, "This machine is so easy, even a woman can use it."

And I'm in love with the dryer! The dryer is actually sturdy aluminum drying racks attached parallel to the balcony ceiling by a series of ropes and pulleys. Take the wet clothes from the washer, shake them out, hang them with wooden clothespins, and space them economically for maximum drying. Then hoist them overhead with the rope and pulley. Early memories of my mother rush through my head whenever I smell the wet clean of cool fabric and pinch the pale wooden clip to attach a shirt or pants in place. I can see her two-toned saddle oxfords with white cotton socks walking through the grass to our backyard clothesline. Placing the heavy basket of wet clothes on the ground, she would take a damp rag from her apron and wipe down each line before deftly pinning her work out to dry in the sun. I'm working on getting my laundry hung as neatly and quickly as she did. It's a pleasant communion.

A few laundry rules I've learned:
1. Don't wash more clothes than you have space to hang.
2. Don't even try to dry clothes on a rainy summer day. Even though they won't get wet from the rain, the super-saturated humid air won't take another drop of moisture.
3. Hang unmentionables modestly on the center of the rack. Neighbors (and grown children who are now roommates for that matter) don't need to know color or size.
4. Remove laundry from the drying racks before company arrives.

Next blog will be about the sounds and smells of the interior courtyard that fascinate the Gringa. For now, it's time to sort some dirty clothes . . .