The following is mostly a response to a friend's post about Laundromats.


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I have two Laundromat stories. Actually three.

One summer when I was home on summer break from college, my sister and I rented a dumpy place in the Hamptons, which is on the South Fork of LI and reserved for the ritzy set. My sister and I could barely afford Ritz crackers.

We held part time jobs. It was when the Hamptons was still somewhat rural - 1967 or so. There was a Mom & Pop joint with a Laundromat, Deli, and gas pumps. I ran the Laundromat, which essentially meant I made change for customers and sat on my ass all day reading. My sister's job was far more labor intensive in the deli portion and overseeing the pumps. Older sisters rule!

Um, I can't remember the second story.

So here's the third - one I've never ever told anyone. It was 1969. I was a newlywed in a small town in central Missouri. I was a social worker in an even smaller town. My husband was finishing his last year of university. We had a charming tiny apartment in an enormous gingerbread Victorian mansion. There were no laundry facilities so I had to go to the local Laundromat.

One Saturday a farmer in bib overalls was doing his laundry while I was there. I could tell he was a man of few words - most words probably reserved for coaxing the earth to provide a livelihood.

He had two young girls with him. Sweet with flaxen hair, ribbons. That's all I recall about this trio except I invited my imagination into their lives. I fanaticized of walking away from my current life and following them to their farm. I presumed the children were motherless. The simplicity I visualized was very attractive to me.

Of note, nary a word was exchanged, yet I created a new life for myself.

Over the years I've wondered if my imagination was a foretelling of sorts - that there were challenges ahead for me.

I know it's odd, but I've every now and again wondered how the man fared - his daughters.

But I've never regretted remaining on the track my life was taking. I've had a beautiful life.


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This is typical of me and perhaps all creative people? Nothing ever remains as seen. It's exhilarating and exhausting and powerful to know that a tree is more than just a tree (that's a horrid example), and the potent potential of even the minutest minutiae.

I think I need to write a post.


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And so I have - written the post that is. To liven up my meanderings, here are some photos. (Please forgive duplicates.)

New art:




Red Cap by Marius Park




Sean by Marius Park



Susan by Marius Park




Paint Brush Sculptures by Jeff Jonczyk




Scarved Business Women by Sharon Yarvis



And peeks into my life:





View from the easel on my screened porch. Sunglasses line the railing around my porch. :)







Three 10LO2 concentrators. Two are spliced. The third operates independently. The third arrived the other night with the technician leaving at 11:30 pm. The additional O2 and apparatus has made a wonderful difference. I've been advised that this new O2 company can provide up to 60LO2. The required equipment sounds like star wars weaponry.






Beautiful me is still under all this equipment. I only wear the nasal cannula and the nonrebreather mask together when I'm mobile and require much greater quantities of O2 - approximately 23LO2.

Info about the nonbreather mask:

This device is used to deliver high flow rates and high concentrations of oxygen.

A nonrebreather mask has ports on each side that have one-way valves that keep the patient from breathing in room air to ensure that a high concentration of oxygen is delivered. The mask also has a reservoir bag that is inflated with pure oxygen. Between the mask and the bag is another one-way valve that allows the patient to breathe in the oxygen supplied by the source as well as oxygen from the reservoir. This provides the patient with an oxygen concentration of nearly 100%.

As always, thanks for stopping by. Love.