Never know who you’ll meet in laundromats across America
I am standing in a laundromat folding my underwear in front of a complete stranger in the little town of Rhinelander, Wisconsin. Mabel stands (actually leans) against the counter’s edge across from me. She looks as though she has a bit of difficulty remaining upright for longer periods of time. Mabel glances at my pile of laundry and I assume that she is passing judgement on my undergarment choice. I have never been so glad to have made the switch from “tighty whities” to a most impressive collection of colored sport boxer briefs.
As time passes between cycles, she makes polite chit chat and I help her bring in a load of laundry from her car. For those of you thinking that I’m putting the moves on a geriatric stranger at a laundromat, I assure you that Mabel is roughly a century old and looks it. Mabel is one of those individuals who seems to have experienced a tough but robust and interesting life at the same time. I’m guessing she is no stranger to hard work but took it on more than willingly.
She mentions the small-game shirt at the top of my laundry heap with its blaze orange shooting patch and forearm protectors, noting that her husband wore one very much like it as a younger man. Truth be told, mine was thrifted and it is almost as old as me. She kept his shirt patched and serviceable over the many seasons, arriving at more patch than shirt.
At this point, Mabel begins to tell me about her Charlie and the life they shared together. Charlie was her high school sweetheart but I’m guessing he was quite a bit her senior. He was an athlete and from all indications, a real “catch” according to Mabel. He worked locally in the timber industry until he was drafted and sent to Korea. Charlie returned to the states with some bumps and bruises from combat but was in relatively good shape, considering. Charlie and Mabel were wed shortly thereafter. He acquired his teaching degree, attending night school, while Mabel worked in the high school cafeteria to support them. In the years to follow, Charlie would rise through the educational ranks as a teacher, coach, guidance counselor, principal, finally achieving the position of superintendent of schools. Mabel would complete her tenure in the cafeteria, minus a few years off for raising kids. She shared that they had a son and a daughter. Eventually she confided that she and Charlie lost their son but didn’t go into much detail and I didn’t inquire. Their remaining daughter was the joy of their life and their grandkids were obviously their world.
I shared that our Emma was the same for my wife, Kelly, and me, having been married sixteen years before her arrival and that we had just sent her off to college this fall. I confessed that we missed her greatly. Mabel nodded that she understood and I believed her.
She talked about her family’s time outdoors and of their gratefulness for Charlie having such a good job which allowed them to raise their kids in relative security, free from the ups and downs that came with the timber industry layoffs and dreadful unemployment and poverty of their region. Canoeing, hunting, fishing, trapping, picking mushrooms, cutting pine bows, they did it all, together as a family. And lots and lots of reading. It was how they raised their children to be and Mabel continued to be appreciative for the life they had been given. I don’t know how long it had been since the passing of their son nor how long ago Charlie had departed. I guess there were a lot of things I didn’t know about them since I had scarcely made Mabel’s acquaintance in a laundromat mere minutes before.
Suddenly, as if exiting a trance, Mabel began to briskly assemble her laundry items and collected her basket. I attempted to tote her load of quilts back to her car but she assured me that wasn’t necessary as she only had the one basket. I insisted. We walked to her car in a relative, awkward silence and I bid her goodbye. No sooner than I had returned to my laundry duties, I was surprised to find Mabel standing there again. She had forgotten her fabric softener. Mabel told me she had enjoyed our conversation, paused, giving me a kiss on the cheek and rested her hand on mine. She whispered “Thank you, honey” although I wasn’t exactly sure of what Mabel was thankful for. Then she reached over and fondled the cuff of the worn brush shirt lying on top of my basket, delaying for just a moment longer than she had spent pressing my hand. She turned her gaze upon me, smiled and parted with, “Those certainly are some snappy undershorts.”
Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com