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Musings from the Laudromat: Meditation, Math & the answer is Yellow Edition

This is truly a beautiful sight …


No, not the man in the hat, although, I’m sure he’s a lovely person.

It’s just such a relief to have had the pick of the washing machine litter.

No sign of glaucoma man – so I am sitting in peace and quiet, enjoying the hum of the machines and gentle whoosh of the air conditioning – while gazing about at the few patrons.

It’s funny how this place has become something I look forward to when I once dreaded the trip.

The sounds are calming – the scent of detergent and softeners are soothing.  It’s like a little vacation.  Laundry meditation if you will.


Just stepped outside for a moment and was captured into a fitted sheet conversation with an older man.

“Let me ask you something.”

I turned my gaze from the quiet highway to his weathered face.

“I just bought a queen sized mattress for my 5th wheel – it’s 6 foot 2 inches long and about five feet across …”

At this point, I’m wondering if he’s winding up for a word math problem, and I’m starting to panic, because I never did know how long it would take a train to get from one place to another if Johnny had 10 apples and Martha needed change after sharing a hotel room with three of her friends after tipping the damn bell hop.


You know, THOSE word problems.

So, I hold my gaze and pray I know the answer.

“It’s about this thick (gestures with hands) Do I have to get special fitted sheets?”  (Phew!)

“No, not if it’s that thick.”

Continued my very helpful answer with a few store suggestions after he mentioned going to one of the pricier places in town.

“See you inside!” I said – a little chirpier than necessary.  I think I was still glowing from getting the answer right.

He’s folding his quilt now, and it’s a chaotic lump of a decent attempt.


Meditation time is over … just had a small child in a yellow top put his yellow dump truck in my yellow laundry cart and start to make off with it – along with my purse.

“I’m SO sorry!”  Said small childs mom.

“That’s ok – he’s having fun.”

Good thing he can’t talk – because I don’t have any more answers today.  He might have needed to know how long it would take his dump truck to reach another cart if he added a juice box  into the mix.


Musings from the Laundromat: College and Hypoallergenic Tortoises Edition

Ah college … the smell of new books, freshly sharpened pencils purchased lap tops, and visions of professors and libraries …

Nic’s first day of classes went well.  I came home to him smiling – feeling confident – a sheen of ‘eau de higher education/grown up’ glistening on his skin.

Then he had math.

I received a call at work approximately 10 minutes before it was time to leave.

“That math class is so stupid!  The teacher doesn’t explain and I have no idea what PAGES we’re supposed to do!!”

“OK, calm down – we’ll talk when I get home.”

My little bundle of college joy was freaking out.

The entire way home,  all the cogs in my mind were turning.

Tutor … I could find a way to get a tutor.  He can find his math teacher before the work is due and ask for clearer direction.  He has to pass or his grant will be due and payable!  Who do I know that’s good at math??  Why does he stress out so quickly?  What did I do wrong?   He used to be good at math.

Considering the fact that my drive home is 10 minutes, these were a lot of thoughts.  And now that I’ve typed them out, I think I answered my ‘why does he stress out’ question.

Came to the conclusion though, that unless he wants to succeed – it didn’t matter what idea ‘Momma’ came up with.

We sat and discussed this.  He said he would find a way.

I have to let go.  I can’t solve problems for him anymore.  I can steer him back to the crux of the situation though.

“Do you still want a degree?”


“Then, you’ll find a way.  If you want it, you just will.”

Inside I was agreeing with him though, that math does suck.


Now another bundle of joy story.

Friday, it was planned that I would accompany one of my nearest and dearest friends to collect her grand baby for the weekend.

I was happy to go along for the ride – besides getting to sniff baby head and bite little toes, the 45 minute drive was a great way to catch up with my friend.

We arrived at my friends mothers house and … OH!  Look at this tree!  It lives in her moms yard and when I saw it, I thought of Harry Potter, then of course, I had to take a photo.


Back to the story.

We enter the house and I headed straight to baby after saying ‘hello’ to friends mom.

You may only see a foot as I don’t know if the baby’s mom would be okay with some random person posting photographs of her daughter online.


I thought we were heading back to our town, but it turned out we were going to dinner.

I’m always up for dinner.

Long story short …



So we’re at the restaurant, and I’m remembering that not so long ago, the baby’s foot was a lot smaller.  And the baby was doing all kinds of things baby couldn’t do last time I saw her.

“She’s getting so big!”

“Well, last time you saw her she was 3 months old.”

No way.  Couldn’t be.

“It can’t have been that long!”

Apparently, yes it could have been that long – and my friend had proof.

Friend and friends mother exchanged glances and I knew, there was a very good reason they were certain of the last time I saw baby.

“That’s when we found out she’s allergic to animals.”




Color me guilty and embarrassed … but then, I turned it around.

“So!  I will always be part of her story!  She had a ‘first’ after being at my house!”

*groan*  I know!  It’s not a good first!  I was trying to stay positive.

I looked at my friend and said “You’re welcome.”

The drive home was filled with more catching up – and baby fell asleep.

My friend and I were yawning – but she had one more stop.

“I’ve got to see if the tortoise is outside of the chamber.”

“Oh my gawd, we’re those old people who stop and look at things like ‘Worlds Largest Ball of Yarn’ on road trips.”

Then: “It’s dark, how are we going to see a tortoise?”

I needn’t have worried.


“What’s it made of?!?”

“Metal I think, get out and touch it.”

“I’m not touchin’ it.  You’ll leave me here.”

“No I won’t.”

“Well, I’m not touching it.”

“You’re going to blog about this aren’t you?”


Yes, Denice – yes I did.