We should all do what in the long run gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry.
I have never considered myself a particularly domestic person. House cleaning just frustrates me (you mean after all that work, I'm going to have to do it all again in a week?), ironing seems pointless, and three-meals-a-day cooking is tedious. But I love doing laundry. I love the piles of clean clothes with their promise of good things to come - a fresh start to every day.
I come by my laundry lust honestly. My grandfather was the laundry hanger in the family and took great pride in his skill. Neighbors in their small Norwegian-Canadian community were judged by the orderliness of their laundry lines. I don't think he would approve of my profligate use of clothespins, though. I don't like the little spot that stubbornly refuses to dry when you clip one item to another.
When we moved to our house on the island I was delighted to find a laundry line strung between an arbutus tree and the corner of the house. I could look out over the ocean while hanging the clothes and the breezes would dry them in just a couple of hours. The only thing that didn't change during the renovation was the location of the laundry line.
In Japan, bedding is hung out to dry along with clothing but the sight of futons on the line is becoming increasingly rare as regular beds take their place in people's homes. When I lived in Tokyo I always dreaded laundry day. We didn't have a washing machine so we had to use the laundromat down the street. There was an underwear thief in the neighborhood who would sneak in when no one was around and steal my unmentionables. You also had to be careful leaving laundry out for too long in Tokyo - after more than twelve hours the clothing had to be rewashed.
After enlightenment, the laundry.