I went to the Laundromat this morning.
A dryer is something I didn't have during my first seven years of marriage/ first six years of parenting. The dryer was the sun. Hanging cloth diapers and burpee cloths and onesies and curb sheets and blankets on the clothesline on the roof, then taking them down before seasonal rain started was part of everyday life.
In the past 13 years, I've gotten used to a dryer, I'm embarrassed to say, even during the summer when I could and probably should be utilizing the sun's rays.
But I went to the laundry place this morning because I have a couple of large bedcovers that don't fit in our machine. I dropped off the loads, took note of the time I needed to return, stopped at Walgreens to pick up a gallon of milk so I could make chai, fixed said chai, and headed back to the laundry room to put the loads in the dryer.
Now I am back home, eyes on the time, drinking the chai.
While driving back home this second time, I remembered a day in my teenhood.
I was 16, and already had plans to move to India. I was living in southern California with an older couple who took in teenagers who wanted to learn more about missions and Christian service. We lived in a six-bedroom Spanish-style home. Girls upstairs, boys downstairs, the couple's room at the foot of the stairs (so they could make sure no one was where they shouldn't be).
There were, at any point in time, between 15 and 25 of us, depending on young people coming and going, visitors passing through, etc.
My main task was laundry. Outside, in a huge back area were two washing machines; inside, just off the kitchen area were two dryers. That was where I spent a lot of my time.
One wet winter day, the dryer stopped working. I was able to get the laundry washed, but not dried. So, I washed a bunch of loads and then was driven over to the laundromat. I stayed there for hours. I took some stationery to write letters and some letters I wanted to read. I did that in between folding loads of laundry.
The sun set early, and it was dark as I returned and carried basket after basket of clean laundry inside. The girls I roomed with had written me a sweet note about how dedicated I was and how they were sorry I had to spend so much time at the laundromat.
I was surprised. For me, it wasn't difficult.
I didn't realize at the time why that was, but I had enjoyed the stillness and the quiet, the time away from being surrounded by others, rooming with at least three other girls, sometimes more. Always interacting with several other people. Always something going on.
It was nice to have some time away.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Limning the Ordinary to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.