On the Alberta/Montana Border: Finishing the Laundry

“My turn to do laundry!”

I sat up in bed. You have to know that, immediately upon waking, I am seldom coherent.

And yes, that condition flees pretty fast (out of necessity).

Because, you know…Sally.

This time, as my mind began to clear, I frowned.

Had I really seen her face at the door? Heard the barked-out words? The closing of said door?

Because, if I had, we were in trouble.

Ahem…

Sally really doesn’t do many of the chores around the house.

It is her house. And the rest of us who live there rent-free are generally happy to do them.

Mom has just carried on with her ‘mom’ stuff—albeit with a little less stress because the bills are all paid and she has Dad, the former Uncle Pete.

I happily do things that require the use of any sort of machinery because it has always satisfied something in me to…you know…do them.

Sally has simply spun in the middle.

Oh, she has tried to help. She’s willing and eager.

She is also accident-prone and known for her snap—let’s call them interesting—decisions.

After which, someone, usually a professional, tidies up.

So…today and back to that voice at my door.

It could have been part of the dream I was having.

Or it could have been real.

Either way, it would still be a nightmare.

I sighed and threw back the covers.

I climbed out of bed and dressed hurriedly. Then opened my door and poked my nose out into the hall.

At first, it was happily deserted. Then Sally appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, laundry basket in her hands. “Gwen! Come on! Mort and I are waiting to start!”

I think I know why she had suddenly become interested in doing everyone’s laundry.

Sally has an inventor friend who is working on a new incarnation of a washer and drier combination. You know—the one machine to rule them all.

And he has given a prototype to Sally to try out...

I sighed and went back into my room to get my hamper and we hauled everything downstairs.

Now you have to know it’s not that she plans any of this. Or deliberately sets out to destroy.

It just…happens.

The first few loads went surprisingly well.

Baby stuff into the machine first.

Then into the basket for Mort and I to start folding as the first load of whites was shoved inside.

Then a load of colourful clothes was inserted.

I stayed on the periphery. With Mort.

Folding and keeping my head down.

Because who knows when ‘something’ is going to happen?

This went on for much of the day.

The first, second, third and even fourth loads had been washed, dried, and folded. And, I have to admit it, the machine was doing a great job!

A load of towels was cheerfully tumbling, nearly at the end of the drier cycle.

And that’s when it happened.

Can’t you just hear the tight ‘Eee! Eee! Eee!’ of the orchestral strings?

There was a muffled thump, followed by a thick ‘click’ and what sounded like metal screeching against metal.

And then the door of the drier blew off.

I am not making this up.

It blew off.

Landed across the room, like, 20 feet away.

I was supremely glad that no one (ie. me) was standing in the way of it. I think it could have done some real damage.

A tongue of flame licked out of the tub.

I think I screamed.

I know someone did.

And then Sally flew in, fire extinguisher in hand and, with a flick or two, put out the few flames before they did much more than singe a couple of towels.

Say what you will about Sally, she usually gets herself out of difficulties even faster than she got in. And usually, while the rest of us are just starting to react.

Then she pulled the electrical plug out of the wall and looked at me. “I’ll have to tell Daniel there are a few kinks to work out,” she said, grinning.

I should say.

Mort, ever the posterior backup, was busy talking to someone at ‘911’.

A mere moment later we were hearing the sounds of sirens.

When Mom and Dad and Ivy Jean pulled up that evening, it was to see Sally, Mort, Peter and I seated on the front lawn, hemmed on one side by leafy bushes.

And on the other by firefighters. We were watching them roll-up hoses and chat happily about ‘doing safety checks’ and ‘another successful mission’.

Mom, clutching the baby, just stared at the house, her colour fading. “What hap-pend?” She managed at last.

I glanced over at the firefighters and shrugged. “Ummm…Sally did the laundry?” I said.

Mom gasped and leaned back against the arm that appeared around her shoulders. Dad patted her shoulder with his other hand and she smiled up at him and took a deep, sustaining breath.

“The good news is: the laundry’s done!” Sally said brightly.

I looked at her. Then at Mom. “So’s the drier,” I added.

Today’s post is a writing challenge. Participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post with the understanding that all words be used at least once. All the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.