Tumbled Memories

My dryer is not working properly so I have had to do the wash then haul it off to the laundromat for drying. I would hang it out on the line to dry but with all the trees in my yard I am afraid the birds would make a mess of it. So I loaded the baskets into the back of the car, grabbed my library books and a soda, and drove down the road to the coin laundry. As I parked the car near the door I was glad to see that I would be the only one there. After dropping my quarters into the slots and selecting the heat settings I settled into a chair to read. As I sat there my mind wandered away from my book and back to my childhood. My mother would be doing this very same thing, late at night or very early in the morning so she could stake claim to as many washers and dryers as necessary for a family of eight. If any of us kids were awake and willing to go she would let us tag along to help with the folding and hanging and the loading of the car. I always loved it if I got to be the sole accompaniment and have time to talk to her without all my brothers and sisters around. It didn't seem much like work because time spent with my mother was always a pleasure. She would let me put the coins in the slots and slide them in to start the wash and she would follow me down the row of machines adding detergent. A few extra coins would appear for the soda machine and then we would take our seats and flip through the magazines, talking idly as we listened to the swoosh of water cleaning away the dirt of our busy lives. It was at the laundromat that my mother taught me how to sort the clothes, to get out stains, when to take clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkled, how to fold sheets so they would feel fresh and sleek when stretched tight across the beds. It was at the laundromat that I learned to appreciate the quietness of the early mornings, the glow of neon, the clean powdery smell of laundry soap, and the dance of colors as the clothes tumbled and floated in the dryers.
I was brought quickly back to the present when a mother and her teenage daughter walked in with their baskets overflowing with wet clothes. The teen loaded the dryers as the mother went in search of the change machine. Then they too settled into their seats with magazines and sodas, chatting off and on as they flipped the pages. I couldn't help but smile to think of how these most mundane tasks have a way of becoming the concrete foundations of our relationships and a pleasurable pool of memories from which to dip as the years go by. I closed my book and waited quietly until the dryers buzzed, wishing I could have my mother here with me, thankful for the times we shared before the light of dawn.