Zen and the Art of Washing Clothes on Thu, 09/07/2006 - 10:51. Neighbors Children have a way of forcing me to slow down and be mindful of my surroundings. Time and time again, I will be lost in the business of my day and my thoughts and a small child will smile at me and I’m all theirs. I admire how they can take a mundane, and often dreaded event like “go to the laundromat” and turn it into another life event to play. On Tuesday night, I loaded three laundry baskets into my car, one full of dark clothes, one of light colored and towels, and one of whites with dozens of socks and undershirts. Our washer, only a few years old, has sprung a leak in a location that a novice single mom cannot figure out how to fix. (some of us single moms know how to research the Internet on how to fix stuff, and sometimes you can, but this chore… eh, not so much) Until I have the cash to pay to have mine repaired, head to the Wash Tub on 5th Street I must go. I parked on the Subway side, and dragged the clothes and Tide with Downy powdered detergent box over to the large washers on the far right. From the moment you open the door, you smell… laundromat. Steam, wet cotton, laundry detergent, bleach, fabric softener, cigarettes, and Pine Sol, the smell of every laundromat in the nation. It was about 7:00 pm, and there were not many people there. The new Tony’s Fireside Grill was packed across the street, it's neon lights glowing from across the street through the picture window. I loaded in the clothes and the Tide, and started pumping quarters into the slots- an incredible $4 a load for this size washer! Mentally figuring visits of $12 a visit before my washer is repaired led me to decide to take the wet clothes home and dry them in my own dryer. With the clothes all loaded, I sat down on the last chair of a row of blue plastic chairs bolted to the wall beneath the window where Tony’s lights were glowing. People eating yummy food, and here I was, stuck in the Wash Tub. The washers read 35 minutes to go, so I settled in to read through my appointment book and plan out the rest of the month. “Ping!” An IBC root beer bottle cap whizzed past my flip-flop wearing feet, and spun to a stop near one my three laundry baskets. Shortly behind, three little giggling children chased after it. They wordlessly elected the biggest child, a boy of about four, to retrieve it. He gave me a sidelong look, adjusted his denim cap, and threw the bottle cap down the front aisle. He ran after it, with his little red, white and blue polo shirt still tucked into his denim shorts, little black sneakers barely touching the ground. His playmates, both female, ran behind. The eldest little girl, hair in a rainbow of little plastic barrettes, shiny earrings in her ears, had already gotten her little flowered shirt untucked from her olive cotton shorts. She wore little tan sandals on her feet- looked at me with the brave half-smile of a three year old, and ran in pursuit. The baby, about 2, followed behind, laughing with her whole belly. She wore a pair of dark blue denim overalls with embroidered flowers and rhinestones at the bib and hems, little bare shoulders beneath with no shirt to cover them, and bright white sandals. Her hair was tightly plaited, and had huge eyes with long eyelashes that fluttered when she laughed. They were all beautiful. The children continued their game of throw, chase, catch the bottle cap. I pretended to be looking in my appointment book, but was actually enjoying the show. Up, over the rows of washers in the center aisles. Clattering across the floor, pinging off the dryers and washers, the game went on. The baby decided that I was funny, and made a show of “falling” near my feet, proclaiming, “Uh, Oh!” each time she did a prat fall, pulling her little body into a toe-touching triangle until she stood tall with arms up. The tile floor of the Wash Tub, a mix of dusty rose and off white tiles, must have been clean for the child never appeared to get dirty no matter how much she “fell” to the ground! I looked around to take it all in, the hanging silk “plants”, the 9 ceiling fans whirring overhead, “Wheel of Fortune” on the television on the far wall, faded blue, pink and cream wall coverings, folding tables and rows of washers and dryers. Three change machines to dispense quarters for $1, $5, $10 and $20 bills had the sign “For Wash Tub Customers Only”. One unisex bathroom, and an attendant area at the back. A few couples were there, one with a baby in a carrier, a few single men, and the rest women of varied ages. Most brought liquid detergent; it struck me how I think I save money by not buying those, and reduce plastic waste; the choice is different when you realize it is easier to lug a jug of detergent back and forth to the laundromat than to bring a cardboard box like I did, as it spilled a bit onto the seat of my van as it teetered on top of the basket of white clothes. On the blue plastic seat next to me was the remains of a customer who was there before I arrived; a drink cup from Burger King, also across the street; a straw wrapper; an ashtray with two cigarette butts of different color filters; three scratch off lottery tickets, a $1, $5, and a $10; and, a paper fortune from a fortune cookie. I imagined someone having a meal there, getting thirsty and walking across the street for a drink. They may have sat there as I did, either imagining a life with a washer that was fixed, or to one day finally own their own. I tried to imagine their anticipation when they scratched off those lottery tickets, hoping to get the highest possible win. A different life, won right there in the Wash Tub- what a story they could tell, how they scratched off a winner while doing a load of clothes. I jotted notes down on the only available paper I had with me, the back of a yellow receipt from Morphis Pediatric Group for the last time my daughter went there for strep throat back in July. I felt empathy for the owner of the items; they reminded me to be thankful for the blessings that I take for granted. My attention went back to the children. They seemed to be annoyed that I had been ignoring them, and got bolder by throwing the bottle cap directly into my baskets. I smiled at all of them, and the girls smiled in return. The cap-wearing boy preferred to nod in acknowledgement. Three impeccably clean children with their family members, all there to keep their clothes fresh, none with a worry on their young minds. To spend 35 minutes playing with a bottle cap, making up their own fun with a common item, these kids knew the secret to being mindful of the moment. I tried to resist reading the paper fortune next to me, for fear it would spoil my feeling of good cheer. I’m glad I did. The back read, September - Chinese word: jin-yue I’m keeping that, but wish I had that bottle cap, too.  » login or register to post comments | previous forum topic | next forum topic | printer friendly version | 27 reads | |
Monday, March 24, 2008
Zen and the Art of Washing Clothes
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