Aging & Attitude
Meshugana! Yes, I must be meshugana, crazy, a lunatic, or at least a little nutty, for thinking about dryer lint.
Dryer lint is on my mind this morning, and was yesterday as well as intermittently throughout the month. Let me be honest; dryer lint is glued to my brain and with every wash the question raised, “Where does this stuff come from?”
The mystery-grabbed my attention seven years ago after moving to Florida and leaving my clothing line behind in New Jersey.
Close your eyes, inhale, and remember the scent of fresh air mingled in laundry. I enjoyed twenty-five years of this simple life pleasure.
My clothesline was suspended outside a kitchen window across the driveway and secured to a beautiful one hundred year old maple tree. With the window open, I stretched and attach clothing to the line with wooden clothes pins held in my mouth. The clothing stayed out to dry, rain, or shine. Rainwater softened the fabric and decreed a final rinse.
There was no lint in my life.
In Florida, the sunshine state, most communities routinely prohibit clothing lines. Clean clothing flapping in the wind is considered unsightly. There is speculation that some snowbirds hang lines in the lanai.
Factor in the humidity, and the dryer is used a lot.
I remove a wad from the dryer lint catch and finger the lump. It is soft, light, and airy. White in color feels good in my hands. I roll small pieces between my hands. They become pipe cleaner in appearance, and I am constructing a figure; a man, like Frosty the Snowman, that I name Fluffy the Lint-man.
“Where do you come from?” I hear myself said aloud.
Fluffy the Lint-man stretches. His yawn fades, and returns a smile, “You talking to me?”
His tone suggests a Tony Soprano affiliation and I want to respond, “Yea, I’m talking to you, you got a problem with it?” However, I do not.
Instead, I try flattery and say, “You’re a cute clean cut looking guy made from lint, but where does lint come from?”
Lint-man says, “You gotta be kidding me, where does lint come from? What are you stupid; it comes from your clothes.”
Then like Rip Van Wrinkle waking up from sleep. and not having spoken in years, Fluffy gives a dissertation on weaved fabric deterioration when spin cycles work them over, and that hot air exhaust blows out the results we call lint.
He has given me a headache and thinking who cares where lint comes from, I know where it belongs; remove his smile, disassemble his arms, then legs, and toss his sorry self in the trash.
Lint Man’s final words to me, “You really need to get a life.”
. . . just saying