6.9.05

Laundry Mat

I really enjoy doing the laundry. With as dysfunctional a crew as is my crew, the clothes pile up. Towels, girl-changes-a-clothes-cause-she's-13, work clothes, rags, etc.

But it is in the doing of the laundry where I find some solace. (along with assorted change, dollar tips, miscellaneous trash) We have maybe four hampers at various locales around the hale (home, pronounced 'Ha-lay') It is a golden egg find most of the time, to get all the wash rounded up. How clothes can be removed in one area, and migrate on their own to another, is a feat in its own right. Then again, there is no crew like MY crew.

Girlie things; find their way into my hamper, along with Lady C's stuff. Now, Lady C is no size 2. So being that there is only one other femme fatale in the home, the smallish panties, arent mine, so hmmmmm?, whose could they be? Maimai & her attire, seem to part ways in a myriad of places. Sometimes, I think they leave without her knowing. Then again, at 13, what happens 2 seconds ago is along time gone.

Back to the joy of wash.

Once the gear is gathered, the fun starts. Procuring a basket to haul the tonnage is in itself, a expedition of Lewis & Clark realms. First I gotta find one that isn't STILL FULL from the last wash batch. Once that treasure has been discovered, moving right along to - heavy stuff first, little light stuff second. Towels and jeans, as well as floor rugs, mats, jackets. In they go. The many different stages of remodels in my home has placed the washer right outside my masterbedroom door. Seriously. Because the first addition was the back patio (lanai) back in the day, it is now enclosed, to make my TV/Computer/ Masterbed area. But the washer, she stayed. Not like she had a choice. So all the needs are right there, above the washer. Dump the clothes, wash-a wash-a wash-a.

Pau (finished) with that, the next is drag that load, and since it is the heavy stuff, hang 'em on the solar dryer.

It is in the hanging that a good deal of meditation takes place for me. I get to look out to a volcanic crater to my right, and the trail that leads to its apex. I recall the hikes with my kids. the runs up there to take in the beauty of my home, my islands. I can even get a quick surf check, if the south shores are happening. Even a peek to the East side waves, if there is action out that side. So in the hanging, I remember good things, good times. The next door neighbor has a huge shower tree. It has thousands of tiny leaves, that fall all year long. They get into the wash basket, creating a pattern of sorts. I guess that pattern reflects in the hanging, 'cause I always tend to hang the stuff the same. towels in the back, jeans and other heavies in the front.

The tedious task of laundry has become a necessary evil, but the task has opened up a time to reflect, a time to take in that which matters.

But the dryer hates me.

The dryer sits on the complete other end of the house. In the garage. Where. of course, it is in charge of electrical consumption. And master and commander of lint. Hider of socks. It likes to take a load, toss it around for a while, and buzz that it has finished the job. The sucker never finishes the job. It laughs its little dryer laugh, when I open it up to find the items half-done. So i reset the dial, and after another billion kilowatts, it produces well toasted clothes. Almost crispy. I have taken this thing apart, fiddled with this and that, and it just does its own thing. Bastard.

Folding is like zen Buddhism. Especially when the day is short, the nights long, and I have managed to again, leave the wax in my surf shorts, thereby leaving wax all over everything. I have ruined more surf shorts that way. You'd think I would learn. Hrumph. Towels get the fold-a-rama sequence. All the same way, the same size. Except, of course, the beach towels. Because the are the size of a King Bed sheet, they take about a hour to figure out what way to fold. Then of course, the Maimai uses it to dry after a bath. Arggggh. How can a 100 lb girl need a towel the size of Texas to dry? A calmness can occur when folding, the state of enlightenment almost achieved. Then reality hits, and I gotta get done, packed up and off to work.

I guess I am lucky, for the one thing about this routine I love is that in my Laundry Mat, I don't discriminate between whites and colors, everybody goes in together. And damn, if they don't get along well. Clean as a whistle, waiting for me to do it all over again.

Back to the firehouse tomorrow, 3 days of Hotel Hell has raw edges around my brain, surf missed by a smidgen, but there is more on the way.

Accomplishments are small, but the point of view, large.

Hope everybody has had a great Labor Day weekend, and prayers out to the N.O. families.

Aloha.

1 comment:

Jennifer said...

I love laundry tips! And since all of my kids are tall enough and have been instructed how to do their own, but often refuse to, I've been known to hang onto a sawbuck or two that have fallen out of Moose's pockets. Nothing like freshly laundered pin money.

I envy you your multitude of clothesline days. We have so few here it's hardly worth stringing the line out each spring. Then, if I do hang laundry, some little bird that's been eating wild grapes comes along and, PLOP. Gotta rewash.

It is a nice task though, for all its intermissions and meditation times. If I could just get my family to see things your way...

Hope you survived the holiday weekend at Hotel Hell & get to recover in the waves. Or on them.