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.