I’m NOT too old to learn new things.  I know I’m not.  I teach businesses how to make change their best friend. I preach being in control of change.  When I go too long doing the same thing, I get bored and want something different.  Yes, this is the same guy who’s been married 41 years.  42 if I behave through August.  It’s evident I’m not talking that kind of topsy-turvy change. I know a good thing, like my marriage, when I see it

I’m talking about significant changes.  I’m talking about REAL LIFE – going to the laundromat when you’re 63 and haven’t been to one in generations.

Our laundry room is just down the hall from my office.  One morning when I was rehearsing a speech and was trying out some new “original funny stories,” I heard a groan and thought for a moment that Winston The Cat was showing his disapproval of what I was saying.  He usually does that with a hairball, but I thought maybe he was getting creative.  As I followed the sound, I discovered the white clothes sitting in the clothes washer were doing only that – sitting – while the machine strained and groaned.  Not being mechanical, I did the only thing I knew to do to solve the problem.  I quit rehearsing my speech.  That didn’t work.

I began the replacement process by googling more information than I ever wanted about washers (and dryers, since you certainly can’t buy just one by itself, since the dryer is bound to die any minute – Brenda rule).  But that’s not the point.

The point is that I agreed to go to the laundromat Saturday morning.  I organized the clothes into appropriate wash stacks, put them in baskets in the order in which I wanted to wash them.  (Yes.  I could be CDO, which is similar to OCD, but in alphabetical order the way it should be.)  I took another basket and loaded the supplies.  And I packed the most important ingredients, a mug of coffee and a book.

I pulled into a parking space in front of the laundromat and instantly called Brenda.  “”Come rescue me!!!”  There was a young girl/woman (I don’t know) sitting in a chair in front of the huge glass store window talking on the phone.  As I pulled in, she remained oblivious to the world and pulled her t-shirt up to mid-belly and scratched her belly button.

I considered turning around and coming back home.  But, I toughed it out and went inside.  Shouldn’t have.  I think having an audience made her talk louder.  I heard her sharing about her love lives (plural), where she was going to put her next tattoo, and why she thought having to do 50 hours of community service was unfair.
    
The next time the washer breaks down, I’m going to do something more in line with my age and experience – take the clothes to the river and beat them with rocks.