I decided this morning I wanted to surprise my laundry lady with something bright and unexpected. So I stopped off at Safeway before venturing across our little highway to the laundromat.
I continued on and balanced my two baskets, my to-go coffee and the flower.
I approached the counter.
Me: These are for you – thank you for smiling every time I see you.
Her: Oh, thank you! Are you going to need coffee today?
And that was that. And I adore her.
Standing by ‘my’ (preferred) machines was cataract man. “There you are!” he said.
He revealed a secret machine that was closed. “You can use this one!”
The irony in that offer was that for once, all the machines that I covet were available. I politely declined the ‘secret’ machine and stuffed two next to it.
Then cataract man discussed his desire to perhaps ask his doctor for a marijuana prescription, as he still has uncomfortable pressure on his eyes, and in spite of multiple people who have told him to the contrary, he is certain his cataract surgery gave him glaucoma.
Him: I might put it in food
Me: Well, make sure you heat it up – you can’t just sprinkle it on a salad – has to be heated to release the THC
Him: Yeah – I definitely don’t want to smoke it.
I claimed a table and opened up my ipad.
In came some more familiar faces.
“There’s band-aid lady!” My little old man had arrived. (For those of you new to the blog, this stems from a day I watched him sitting trying to continually wipe blood from his arm – I went and got him a band-aid.)
“Hi!” I said.
(It dawns on me – for all the names I’ve given people – have I become ‘band-aid lady’??)
Then a rare sighting. Cataract man was having technical difficulties – here is laundry lady with him, helping him out.
And here is the little old man I wanted to put in my pocket. He’s so flipping small and sweet. I still get the Elmer Fudd vibe when I look at him.
This place has become a second home.
A friendly tradition. A little laundry family.
And as I put my clothes in the dryer, of course, a pair of panties fell to the floor. This morning it was the peach colored pair. And no one cared. Because by now, we’ve seen all of one another’s laundry.
Barely had my eyes opened this morning before I leaped into action. This was after a brief ‘wait, it really is Sunday right?’ thought.
I did not want to miss my glaucoma man today.
I threw on some jeans and brushed my teeth – grabbed 3, yes 3 laundry baskets full of items and managed to juggle those, plus my purse, plus my keys PLUS my cup of coffee and get into my car.
I had a fleeting thought of wishing I could balance my laundry on my head.
I waddled in, weighted down with my bags and spotted glaucoma man.
He gestured to my two washing machines and I shuffled over to him.
We spoke of his eyes (they’re getting better but he hates the drops he has to use … said they go down his throat (from his eye? eek.)
I shared with him a documentary I saw about a doctor who went to North Korea and performed the surgery on 1000 + N. Koreans. A lot of them young, they’d been blinded by poor nutrition.
Then we spoke of his time in South Korea. How we both think China is going to have a little chat with North Korea soon – about progress and bombs – Russia and how they’re getting so poor he thinks a war is imminent. We spoke of the DMZ and VA health care … and the weather.
I love talking to him. And then he left.
I crammed the washers to the brim today – I’m so hoping that means the items still got clean.
I was down to change again today – so two washing machines it needed to be! Of course, I chose today to wash my quilt and Butters blanket too. Logic is not my strong point … but tenacity is, and miraculously everything fit and now 3 dryers are spinning merrily away with my laundered contents inside.
I plan to de-Christmas my humble abode today. We’ll see how much energy I have left after lugging all that laundry back home and making my bed. lol.
Ooo! And I think I just found a new friend to chat with. I’ll start with brief eye contact and a smile – and we’ll see if she warms to me. Maybe by next week we’ll be exchanging stories.