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DOES THE WASHING MACHINE ALWAYS MAKE THAT NOISE?
by C.L. Halvorson
Mama still lay in the hospital in a
coma. The doctors said she would more than likely regain consciousness
within two weeks. According to them, her brain was conserving energy to
concentrate on healing her body. We still were not allowed to see her.
Daddy kept us informed with daily updates. He dutifully delivered each
and every drawing, card and gift we wanted to bestow upon our mother to
the hospital. In between, he went to work and did his best to tend to
us and the house.
Daddy’s domestic abilities were, shall
we say “limited”, at best. He and Mama were married when he was only
21. He had never lived in a situation where he was on his own. There
was always Mama or Grandmother Ruth to take care of him. To cook for
him, clean for him and launder his clothes. This was not an unusual
thing at the time. Most of Daddy’s contemporaries where in the same
situation. Yet, he was not going to let his lack of experience stop
him. He pressed on hardily with a confidence that was awe inspiring!
Not warranted, but awe inspiring nonetheless.
On that happy morning when Daddy came
home to tell us that our blessed mother would indeed live, he snapped us
into action like a general rallying the troops. After being allowed a
brief celebration at the happy news of Mama’s ever improving condition,
he ordered us to change our clothes, strip our beds and bring everything
to the utility room to face our first task. Laundry.
We snapped to like good little soldiers,
wanting to do our part for the cause. We went off to our rooms, peeled
off our jammies, got dressed and stripped the bedclothes with haste. We
carefully gathered everything into a big wad, grabbed the hamper and
headed for the laundry room. Daddy had retrieved the few dirty clothes
from his and Mama’s room to begin a pile. Once there, we
unceremoniously dumped our parcel onto the patio where Daddy waited.
Did I forget to mention the laundry room was outside? Well, the laundry
room was outside. Daddy rubbed his hands together and set about the
task.
“Okay. Let’s see what we have here,” he
said as he began unwadding our bundles. Three sets of bed sheets had
somehow twisted themselves into a complicated series of knots on their
journey down the hallway. “What the hell did y’all do to these sheets?”
he demanded.
“Nothing. We just carried them out
here,” we answered.
“Well, you did something! How did they
get so knotted up?” he fumed.
“I dunno,” we answered. “I dunno” was
our standard answer to most of Daddy’s questions. I truly don’t
remember if we did not know the answers, or we did not wish to give the answers because of their possible consequences. My money’s
on the latter.
“Here! Untie these!” Daddy thrust a
sheet at each of us and we set to work undoing the knots.
We were off to a rocky start already.
Daddy began to load the washing machine with the untangled items from
the pile. At least he bothered to separate the whites from the colors.
Maybe he could do this after all.
“That’s not how Mama does it,” Sara
offered after watching him for a moment.
“Not how Mama does what?” he asked over
the top of his glasses. He was already getting perturbed, I could
tell.
“The laundry. She puts the soap powder
in first, then runs a little water in it to melt it,” instructed Sara.
“Well, I already put them in so it’s too
late now,” he continued loading the machine.
“And, she doesn’t put so many in at one
time,” Sara was really pushing her luck.
“That would probably explain our water
bill,” snorted Daddy as he began to add soap powder to the clothes.
“I really don’t think you should put
that much soap in, Daddy. Mama doesn’t use anywhere near that much,” I
advised.
“Look! Mama’s way isn’t the only way! You let me do this and you untie those damn sheets!” he roared.
We hurriedly finished unknotting the
bedclothes and put them back in the pile. Daddy was mashing down the
clothes in the tub of the washer. Wonder why Mama didn’t put more
clothes in the machine? They did seem to fit with a little coaxing.
Daddy started the machine and turned to us.
It was January and quite cold out. In
our hurry to bring the laundry, we had neglected to put on shoes or
coats. Daddy now noticed our skimpy attire. He grumbled at us about not
using the common sense the good Lord gave us and hustled us inside. He
sent us to at least put on socks while he got our breakfast.
We came back to the table to find
scrambled eggs and toast. That was a nice change from regular cold
cereal or oatmeal. Having Daddy take care of us might not be so bad
after all. Daddy joined us and we dug in enthusiastically having not
eaten a bite since lunch the day before. Suddenly, our meal was
disturbed by a loud Whonk! Whonk! Whonk! It was coming from
outside. Daddy raced to the backdoor and found the door to the laundry
room shuddering with each whonk. It had to be the washer.
“Does the washing machine always make
that noise?” Daddy asked.
“I don’t think so,” we answered.
Carefully he opened the laundry room
door and was nearly run over by the washing machine. It was moving
forward with each whonk. It had thrust itself like a battering
ram at the laundry room door struggling to break free. Daddy hurried us
back into the kitchen lest we be trampled. He reached gingerly across
the hulking beast and turned it off. The washer took a few extra steps,
propelled by sheer momentum.
Daddy came back inside and promptly
called for the repairman. There was surely something wrong with the
appliance. The repairman arrived late that afternoon, at double the
rate for a Saturday visit, and told Daddy the reason the washer was
walking was because it was overloaded causing it to become unbalanced.
Daddy paid the man, all the while muttering something about his wife
being in the hospital, while Sara cheerfully told the repairman that she
had warned him that wasn’t how Mama did it. She looked quite pleased
with herself.
After the repairman left, Daddy
lightened the washer’s load by several pounds and started it again. The
machine was quiet after that. We were making progress. After the cycle
finished, Daddy pulled the clothes out only to find them caked with damp
clumps of soap powder. They would need to be washed again. So much for
saving on the water bill.
“That’s probably why Mama melts the soap
first,” gloated Sara.
From that day, Sara was put in charge of
laundry and she never offered Daddy anymore advice.
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