Fairly quiet at the Laundry this Sunday morning except when I was trying to take some time-release pictures with the digital camera that my generous brother Curtis handed down to me and I never read the instructions on the finer details. My favorite place to sit and write is in a narrow spot tucked into the northeast corner of the Laundry, sided by two windows where my signs hang, the first row of washers, and an glass inset from the entrance, basically a 3x6 space. So between setting the timer, crawling over an enthusiastic Emma who is tied up so as not to get the avocado pit back behind the table or bother the non-existent (at the moment) customers, and getting in position in 10 seconds in front of a camera that I don’t if it really has this function, it’s a tight squeeze. One guy tried to take my picture but it kept coming out blurry –something I greatly sympathize with. I tell people that look at my blurry photographs to just tremor their hand a bit and they’ll be able to settle the image to see it properly. He and his friend left and during my comical attempts a woman came in that was very happy to take my picture. She’s gone now and it is quiet, except for the occasional sigh of the dog.

We’ve been cooped up all weekend due to me fighting a cold or the flu, neither of which I can remember which you starve and which you feed so I feed them both. While I have at least had movies to watch, Emma has only had treats to intersperse her napping. I guess that’s not all that different from me. We’re both trying the feeding-remedy. In her dogged mind, treats are the main food group. Just ask anyone who has ever given her one. She never forgets them or the pocket or desk drawer where the morsel came from. Though I’m sure in her heart of hearts she loves them for who they are.

Interlude I:
Sambo, the owner of the Jailhouse Sandwich Shop & Soup Kitchen just walked through. He’s a man of few words, some might say gruff but he is a surprising personality. One, he was very cordial about me including his business in my writer-in-residence title. Two, his karaoke specialty is Frank Sinatra. I admire that kind of seeming contradiction. Everyone has a story not only to tell but one that forms who we are, how we got to be how and where we are. Sometimes we get to know the underlying plot, often we do not. Unless of course E! Hollywood does a segment on you or 20-20 but either you’ve shown your privates to the paparazzi or been involved in exploiting children on the internet and those are at best squeamish options to even consider for a millisecond.

Interlude II:
Some guy with a steaming mug of coffee just stopped in because he was supposed to meet a friend here. Quoting the yellow sign he said, “I’m glad that the writer is in.” He and Emma had a mutual admiration minute and he guessed Emma’s age to be about 8 or 9. I said that I didn’t really know as I got her at the pound 8 years ago but at the time they thought she was 2. He replied, “Oh she was an inmate puppy. I want to get one of those death-row puppies this spring. I’ll just ask which one is next to go. Yes, Emma, you’re from the pen. You fit right in on Rodney Street.” Off he went with a smile. Nice fellow.

Interlude III:
Blurry-cameraman’s friend is back.
“How often do you come here?”

“About once a week is what I try to do.”

“Do you take a picture of the building every time you are here?”

“No, that was just for my blog.”

“There is a French-Canadian movie about a guy who took a picture of the same place at the same time every day. There was a clock in the picture. He did it for a year and then he asked a friend to take the pictures but his friend didn’t want to come back every day so he just changed the time on the clock to match the time it was supposed to be. So I wondered if you took a picture once a week.”

“That’s an interesting idea.”

“There would be different cars in the picture and snow and no snow but it’s not an urban setting so not that much would change.”

“No, probably not, but still an interesting thought.”
Interlude IV:
Sandy, the owner, came by to ask if it was Friday, my designated day to be here. She was off to open her other business, Birds & Beasleys, open 7 days a week for the holidays. Part seed store, gift shop, birding headquarters, and general store/community center, Sandy is a “connector” in the language of the book The Tipping Point, she knows everybody and can immediately tell you who you need to talk to about downtown business, non-profit organizations, and where in Home Depot you can get (or not) a particular part for a dryer.

Interlude V:
“The writer is in on a Sunday. You’re getting to know a whole different crowd.”

With these words I met Lila who after church each Sunday comes here to use the washers (her washer broke but not the dryer). She lives just down the street, her financial advisor business on the main floor, apartment in the basement. Amongst her array of financial wares, she sells life insurance. With the adult care services, coroner’s office, and funeral home clustered in the neighborhood, even the drive-by visitors might pause to consider.

Lila was very efficient in her washing, already had the loads separated into two bags with the perfect amount of detergent in a plastic container. No lugging the big box of detergent on the three-block walk. She knows the drill.

She’s a Montana native, hailing from Miles City on the eastern side of the state, though she moved here in time to go to Helena High School and stuck around after that. Decades later she stays and exudes the love she has for Helena and Montana. I got to asking her about the best thing to dissolve sidewalk ice and she said what she uses is kitty litter, not to dissolve the ice but to give traction. Good to have in the trunk too if you get stuck. This wasn’t exactly a uniquely Montana ice tip but she gave me some un-ice-related ones, two drink names that I’ll have to test on a local bartender.

Red beer: beer and tomato juice, 80/20, can be spiced but regular tomato juice is the usual. She ordered it once in Texas and they didn’t know what she was talking about. “Red beer?” Must have sounded suspicious.

Ditch: whiskey and water. She read somewhere that the name came from when the miners were here. They got their water out of the ditch.

I had my hours today set by the time-release on my laptop battery. It’s out of juice signaling the time to take the signs down and go home. Emma has shaken off her sleep and dander and is ready to go. Until next week, remember the agitator’s work comes before the rinse and spin cycles.