Far Div Ye Pit Oot Yer Washin?

Posted by Margaret Tong

Thank you, Duncan an Iain for yer kindly welcome.

This topic’s been on my myne: “Far Div Ye Pit Oot Yer Washin?”

Ivery mornin, I log on tae the Internet, tae see fit my Facebook chums are deein.  Maist o them are in Scotland, an for them, it’s the middle o the aifterneen. Their first postins aften read, “There’s a gweed drocht the day, an the washin’s aa dry,” or “It wis lookin affy like rain, so I cwidna  pit oot ma sheets.”  On a bonnie day, they micht pit oot twa tows.

Acht oors ahin, I gie ma ain report o the day’s washin, an weather.  I dinna get the fine breezes aff the North Sea, that they div, tae wap the claes dry, but my washin  usually dries jist fine in the Californian sun.

I fair enjoy sic  an exchange aboot domestic maitters across the miles an am connectit til freens I’ve nivver met, wi oor claespeens an hizers. Bit it diz pit me in myne that nae a’body in America taks  pleesure an pride in pittin oot their washin.

In some placies an communities it’s nae allooed.

I came across eiss first-hand masel, a curn eers ago, fan we we wir contemplatin a move tae Washington, DC. We hid tae look for a hoose An arrangement wis made for me tae meet a real estate wifie fa wid show me properties. I kent I wantit a hoose wi a gairden, an thocht I’d hae a meeting wi the real estate wifie tae ging ower aa the pareeculars.

Bit, Na Na! Eiss wifie hid a hoose in myne that she telt me, “I’d just LOVE!”  Oh Aye?

Weel, she took me tae see it, tellin me aa the time aboot aa it’s amenities.  It wis on a development that hid a golf course, sweemin pools, tennis coorts an aa kyne o fairlies I wisna wantin. “ I jist want a bonnie kitchen, wi plenty o room,  maybe a view, and certeenly a gairden tae grou floories an sit oot in.”  I didna ging sae far as say it wid fine if there wid be a bittie grun an aa tae plant vegetables.  Bit I wished I hid, because I’d rather hiv haen that than tennis coorts.

Onywye, we gied tae the hoose an she showed me aa ower’t.  It wis big, richt enough, bit nae atta hamely an the kitchen lookit like naebody did muckle cookin in’t.

There wis nae gairden, bit a deck ran aa the wye roon the hoose. There wirna ony pailins an ye cwid see richt ower tae the neepers’ properties.

“I think we’ve seen everything,” the wifie said. “You’d love living here, I’m sure!”

“Na! I dinna think I wid,” said I, an I lookit aroon the deck for hooks  that ye cwid faisten a tow til.“ Far aboot div ye hing oot yer washing?’

Michty! I thocht the wifie wis aboot tae tak a parrywabble. I cwidna unnerstan fit wye she gied fyte in the face an lookit like she wiz ga’n tae faa richt awa in a dwam.

Fin she came tee till herself, a bittie, she wis able tae git oot, “It’s not allowed…” Hid I heard richt?  Surely no. Bit aye, it turnt oot the hoose that I “wid jist love” came wi rules o the Home Owners’ Association an ane o the rules wis, ‘There’ll be nae hinging oot o washin.’

Fowk that bade there didna want tae see their neepers unmentionables an if they didna see them, they widna hae tae mention them.    A gweed drocht wid be wastit on them.

So, I didna buy the hoose an I think the peer real estate wifie gied hame an took  tae her bed.

I hiv since learnt, that this  kyne o thing is nae atta unusual in the U.S. Bit there is a movement, ca’ed Project Laundry List that fowk fa want tae pit oot their washin kin jyne tae organize for the richt tae dee so.

I’ve jynt it masel.  My Facebook freens canna believe there’s a need for sic a thing!

So, I wish ye aa a gweed drocht an myne an nae feed the gows fin ye’re hingin oot.

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