Journal of a Sabbatical

December 21, 1999

laundry as ancient solstice custom

Today's Reading: Winter from the Journals of Henry David Thoreau edited by H.G.O. Blake, From Ponkapog to Pesth by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

Christmas shopping and laundry are right up there on the list of things I'd rather not do even if you paid me. However, I did both today. Christmas shopping was way more successful than laundry. I think my Christmas shopping is done now. Since my family reads this, I'm not telling who I got in the lottery or what I bought the person. So there.

The laundromat was mobbed. Maybe there's some little known solstice custom involving washing everything you own. I managed to find two adjacent washers not in use and began sorting and pretreating right there in front of them. I kept having to move out of the way of some little kid and his pursuers playing "catch me if you can". Every time I dodged a kid or a grandma, I dropped underwear on the floor or spilled stain remover or threw the blue jeans in with the whites (just what I need, blue underwear). By the time I got the laundry into the right washers, I was ready to just quit and buy all new clothes.

I took a walk (in my shirtsleeves despite the cold) while the washers were going and got back just in time to unload them while some guy in tight jeans, fashionable glasses, a wealth of attitude stood by to claim the washers as his own. I couldn't manage to fit everything in one dryer so put in one load and left the rest of the stuff in a cart until another dryer freed up at the other end of the row. Walking back and forth between the dryers to feed them more quarters was like running an obstacle course. The aisle between the front loading washers and the dryers is about the width of a laundry cart. It was inevitable that someone would open a washer door right into my arm. And so it was. And I got a big green bruise.

A van load of teenagers from some group home arrived. Two girls got in a fight in the doorway. My way to the dryer was blocked. The dryer wasn't done yet anyway. I kicked a few laundry carts out of the way, ducked under the reaching arms of teenagers, and opened the dryer while it was still spinning. The first thing I touched was the metal zipper of my blue sweatshirt - with the same thumb I shut in the screen door yesterday. I now have a burn blister on top of the purple blood blister. I loaded the very warm laundry into a bag and dumped it in the car to be sorted and folded in the privacy and safety of my own bedroom.

Yesterday was the last day of autumn entries in Thoreau's journals. Winter starts today according to his editor, H.G.O. Blake. It is interesting to note that on this day in 1853 there was already substantial snow cover. The only other entry for today is 1851 and doesn't mention weather or redpolls.

Today on the radio I heard an interview with a woman who makes snow for people in their yards - not for ski areas. She brings her snowmaking machinery around to the customer. Apparently people hire her so their kids can go sledding. Sounds like a good job.