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October 07 Laundry ZenI'm feeling really lazy today. Don't feel like writting. So....forgive me, I'm doing a repost. There came a time when I was a teen that it was decided that I would be in charge of the laundry. This little tidbit was to be added to the list of chores I already had. The list was, in my opinion, enough to classify me as an indentured servant. But don't all teens think that? Too much work, I'd rather be lying on the couch watching tv and telling my parents how bored I was. I think that's what got my ass stuck with chores in the first place. So, with a deep sigh that only teenagers know how to do and a roll of the eyes that almost got me cleaning the gutters as well, I took up laundry. With the
fervor of one who was about to be embalmed I started sorting
clothes. At first I hated it.My step mother was (and still is) a nurse,
and seeing as how this whole thing was her idea in the first place, she
had quite a few uniforms turn up pink. Did I do it on purpose?
Ummm....yeah.
After a
while, even though I would have denied it vehemantly if asked at the
time, I started to like this chore. More than dusting, more than
vacuuming, more than doing the dishes (I StILL hate doing the dishes)
this chore gave me a sense of involvement with my family (which I also
would have denied if asked). Something about sorting through your
familys unmentionables and getting them clean I guess gave me a strange
feeling of involvement. That and when there's alot of static
electricity you can hang socks and cotton underwear all over your body
and they will stick there. To
my dismay, I found myself actually liking this particular chore. I
liked sorting the clothes---lights, darks, in betweens. I liked the
dials---hot, cold, rinse, time, heat. Those were choices i understood
and could make with decisive skill. ( unless my stepmother had pissed
me off, if that were the case she would wear a pink unifom to work the
next day.) I can't find the remote to the tv half the time, found it in
the fridge once, but washers and dryers I understood. When I was
finished, I had a sense of accomplishment. A sense of competence. I was
good at doing the laundry. At least that. And it's a religous
experience you know. Water, earth, fire---polarities of wet and dry,
hot and cold, dirty and clean. The great cycles----round and
round---beginning and end---Alpha and Omega, amen. I was in touch with
the great SOMETHING OR OTHER.For a moment at least, life is tidy and
has meaning. But then again....
Later after
moving out of the house on my own, my washing machine died on me
one day.Guess I overloaded it with towels. (That or it was a karma
thing for all those pink uniforms....) The load got all lumped up on
one side during the spin cycle I think. The washing machine took a walk
around the room and blew itself up. I thought it was coming for me.One
minute it was in the throes of a seizure, and the next minute it was a
white box full of half-digested towels and froth around its mouth. I
guess I had fed it too much soap as well.Five minutes later the dryer
expired. Like a couple of elderly folks in a nursing home who follow
one another quickly in death, so closely are they entwined.
It was a
Saturday afternoon, and all the towels in my apartment were in there.
Knowing full well if I called the maintenace guy I would have to stay
at home for thirty six hours straight and maybe, just maybe he would
show up. No time for that...off to the laundromat. Being 21 at the
time, spending a Saturday night in the local laundromat had no appeal
what-so-ever. If I didn't go, I would have moldy clothes. What to do?
Saturday night
in a laundomat, you get to see and hear things you would ever see or
hear anywhere else.I watched an old lady sort out a lot of sexy black
underwear and wondered if it was hers or not. I heard a college kid
explain how to get puke off a suede jacket.
Sitting there
waiting, I contemplated the detergent box. I used Cheer. I like the
idea of a happy wash. Sitting there late at night, leaning against the
dryer for warmth, drinking wine out of a thermos I brought (I came prepared), I got to brooding about the meaning of life and started reading the cheer box, (must have been the wine).
Amazing. It contains ingredients to lift dirt from clothes (anionic
surfactants) and soften water (complex sodium phosphates). Also, agents
to protect washer parts (sodium silicate) and improve procesing (sodium
sulfate), small quantities of stuff to reduce wrinkles, plus whiteners,
colorant, and perfume. No kidding. All this for about a nickel an
ounce. It's biodegradable and works best in cold water---ecologically
sound. A miracle in a box.
Sitting there
watching the clothes go round and round I thought about the world and
hygeine. We've come a long way. We used to think disease was an act of
god. Then we figured out it was a product of human ignorance, so we've
ben cleaning up our act, literally, ever since. If only experts could
come up with something to get the shit out of our minds instead ofjust
off our clothes. One cup of fizzle frizzle that would lift the dirt
from our lives, soften our hardness, protect our inner parts, reduce
wrinkling, improve our coloring and make us sweet and good.
Don't try Cheer by the way. I tasted it. It's awful.....
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