I am lounging in Caje Café in Santa Barbara, a Spanish style coffee shop that sits across the Alrington Theater. It’s happenstance that I’m here during the Santa Barbara Film Festival in front of a premiere. People are lined up to see the stars walk down the red carpet before entering the theater.
The café drew me in not because of it’s proximity to this event but because of the beauty of the courtyard. After leaving Andalucia in December, I was missing the outdoor beauty of Spanish life, and longed to be close to a beautiful fountain and greenery. There were young college students at the café, in addition to yuppies, dog owners, and fellow book lovers who sprawled out in the sun and read their next chapter. There was also a man who appeared to be struggling with mental health issues, potentially homeless, walking up to various customers muttering to himself, before he was kicked out.
I sat in the outdoor café and wrote, once in awhile peaking on what was going on around me. The music was quiet and chill, it was a simple Sunday afternoon. But then I heard loud screams coming from the street. Me along with many of the customers stepped out of the café’s white entrance to sneak a peak. The main star arrived. Billie Eilish’s van pulled up and she was about to enter the festival. The screams were loud, fans stood on their tip toes to see above the crowd to get a view above other fans who were holding up her most recent record. She briefly stopped to shake fans’ hands and was interviewed by the press before heading into the theater.
I went back into the café, whose background music was promptly changed from soft mellow tunes to a loud Billie Eilish song. As I walked in, so did the man with mental health issues. He was running behind the screaming crowd and proceeded to run back into the café, making fellow patrons squeamish. A woman came up to him, and asked what was wrong. I wasn’t close enough to hear the words he was muttering on repeat. He was distraught and upset. She held his hand and slowed down her breathing. Gentle loud exhales to decrease his nervous system, as she did this she repeated to him “you are safe.” She continued to check what he needed at that moment, and offered to get him water as he sat down. The fellow staff member who kicked him out minutes earlier, came by to check.
This female courageous customer was handling the situation. She was calming this stranger down, when everyone else backed away. He was shaken by the loud screams for Billie Eilish and was unaware of what was going on.
As I watch this all unfold, I thought of the irony of the situation. This woman was the real rock star here. Yes, artists and musicians help express our emotions and get us through difficult times in our lives through their creative works. Everyone surrounded the theater to welcome her entrance to the event. But at a café across the street, a woman was in the everyday trenches, offering a moment of tangible calm support to a stranger that was viewed by others as untouchable. She was not paid for this act, and nobody else said anything to her for this to be recognized as profound and strong.
I offered her one of these Puzo Bella cards (which you may have received, which is why you may be reading this blog). I wanted to tell her I noticed her and wanted to thank her for helping a stranger. For some reason as I did this, I wanted to cry. In that moment, she had this superhero strength of compassion of a saint. And I wanted her to know it was seen and appreciated. There’s so much to be seen and admired in this world, and it’s not only things that are of material wealth. It’s these everyday moments that are full of rich individuals, simply helping a stranger.
“Compassion for others begins with kindness to ourselves.” — Pema Chodron
Moving is always listed as one of the top 10 events that are attributed to our personal stress. There are so many facets involved with this big ordeal: making the decision to embark on this change, informing one’s landlord, having prospective tenants visit your place, finding a new place to live, searching for a job, interviewing, attaining a job, packing, transportation to the new location, and coordinating the shipment or move of one’s belongings. This is the case for me. In the past six months, I’ve made the decision to relocate. I will not just be leaving my current city, country, but also continent. After 10 ½ years of living overseas, I will be returning to America, a job, and a newly purchased condo. And so the past several months have been eventful, with interviews, travels, paperwork, coordination, and packing.
I had always thought during times of moves, that we must almost be in a manic state to ensure we get everything done. This includes excess energy, less sleep, and full speed ahead planning. I’m generally overcaffeinated and prepared for all. And this time, I’ve tried to decrease some of this and maintain a bit of my spiritual practice. In reality, I do not have the time or mental capacity to do all of my spiritual practice. This is where self-compassion has been vital for me.
It’s during these moments that I remind myself, that it is all ok. Although I may not be able to do my extended leisurely 45 minute spiritual practice every morning, everything counts. Doing just my daily gratitude and reading a spiritual text in the morning may be enough. I also could intentionally choose to make anything a spiritual or mindful practice. I have done this with taking my dog for a walk and being present without the distraction of phones, doing the dishes mindfully, and slowing down the mornings with candlelight and coffee. There are options for reset numerous times of the day.
Instead of harboring on myself that I haven’t been able to do my daily yoga practice, and I can lean into the comfort of knowing I spent quality time with visiting friends or family. I can take it easy on myself because I’m navigating a strenuous transitional time. And I can take deep diaphragmatic breaths, when I remember.
Last month, I had attended a silent retreat. On my free time, as I knit a small blanket, I would repeat the following compassion phrases first with regards to myself, then someone I love, another I am neutral towards, someone I dislike, and the larger world. This is known as metta or loving kindness meditation. The compassion phrases I tend to lean on are the following:
May I be free from suffering.
May I be free from internal and external enemies.
May I live this life with a healthy body and happy mind.
May it be so.
The blanket I was knitting was becoming a compassion blanket, for myself, others and the world. Instead of ruminating on all the stressors that were in my life, I could focus on those phrases and that moment. I remind myself this during my last week living abroad. Can I find comfort in the crazy? Can I hold myself in compassion through change? I encourage this metta practice to all of you, regardless if you are in the midst of transition or simply preparing for the holiday season.
“If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world.”-Francis Bacon
Sometimes we can find the most comfort in surprising places: strangers. We don’t expect anything from them, because they don’t know us. This fact is when a kind word is said or gracious act done, the appreciation in our hearts can linger. This was evident in several instances the past two weeks.
Two weeks ago, one of my childhood friends was visiting me for her first European trip. Since I have lived here for nine months, I took her to some of my favorite places in Andalucia. This included one of the most beautiful beaches in Nerja, a 45 minute to 75 minute bus ride away (dependent on if it’s direct). The waves were strong that day, and I only had the energy to put my feet in. I had gone one week prior when the water was tranquil, and I didn’t want to navigate the currents. But Lisa was mesmerized by the waves, she entered a trance of it’s blue hue beauty and power. She walked in deeper, and the waves dragged her in for an embrace. I was in the sand at this point and saw her face after she was pulled in and laughed. Her mouth was open and she was surprised. Me and a stranger tried to motion another wave was coming and to prepare for it, she got dragged in again. Lisa prefers to say she was “spanked by the Mediterranean.” Without hesitation, this stranger went towards Lisa to try to offer assistance by pulling her arm up out of the water. I sat in astonishment. I didn’t think she was in danger, but would have easily gotten in a constant battle with the sea. Timing was everything to get out without being pulled back in. Every other person in the sea was also having this experience, but relished in it. Adults transformed to children to surrender their control to these strong waves. Lisa still had her sunglasses on and was not prepared for the intensity. In that moment, I thought how kind it was this stranger offered support while I sat there in pure surprise.
The other day I sat in a local tattoo shop, awaiting my turn for an hour long session. I talked to a young woman who was getting a souvenir tattoo, after a two week trip to Spain from the UK. It was an empowerment trip for her, post break up, and a means to exemplify her strength and symbolism of this trip. As she searched for what to get, she asked me, “are you ready to get a tattoo? Mentally ready? Because you have to be.” I agreed. I motioned to where I was getting the tattoo, and she had gotten a large tattoo in the same area before. Hers took 8 hours, compared to my potential one pending hour. She said, “Oh yes, the ankle is tender. You have to be prepared.” I appeared very non-chalant, as I had been researching the style of tattoo for months. I wasn’t aware that it would take this long. But she was right, I needed to get in the zone. A staff member asked if I wanted a coffee, I didn’t. But this stranger encouraged me to take the coffee, I would need the caffeine to get in the zone. And I was grateful for this short exchange we had with each other, hopefully I offered some support for her in this tiny end to her journey as well. I took the espresso shot and meditated for an hour during the session.
Post the tattoo, as I took my dog Bella out for a walk, we sat at this local playground. Bella likes to sit here in partial sun and shade, and people watch. Several little girls asked to pet Bella, not believing she was 14 years old. One girl lingered. She was Morena like me, appeared to be 7 years old, and had 3 dogs at home. She had a gentle and calming nature about her as she pet Bella, and asked questions in Spanish. I responded in Spanish. It was one of the few people I have spoken to here this long without being self-conscious of my Spanish proficiency. Her tee shirt had the words enchanting and charrming on it, and it suited her perfectly. After five minutes, she said “Voy a poco jugar ahora.” Translated to “I’m going to play a little now.” Bella and I offered a wave and continued on our walk.
All three instances were brief instances of kindness with strangers, different ages and ethnicities. I do not know any of their names, and will probably not see any of them ever again, but for several brief moments comfort was shared in knowing one wasn’t alone during these times.
I have to admit cleaning is not my favorite activity. I’ve dreaded this over the years, and it stemmed from parents who also hated cleaning. But it’s a necessity of life, and I have learned to pair it with something I enjoy. Lattes! Oftentimes, I will reward myself for doing mundane duties with a large caramel machiatto from Starbucks. I definitely appreciate the local cafes, and lounging in cafes for hours as I write. This happens often during the week, as I meet with acquaintances or friends. But I admit, Starbucks lattes in my take-away cups are quite large and take me a long time to drink. Therefore, the pleasure can last for even more hours as I take it home and engage in such tasks as laundry, dusting, and scrubbing.
When I lived in Paris last year, I had to go to the laundromat to deal with my dirty clothes on a bi-weekly basis. I carried my laundry one block in a rollie bag and large laundry sack. As I waited for these clothes to wash. Starbucks time. And as I write this: one friend has left my home after visiting for 10 days and it’s my time to clean the sheets and the house before the next one visits for 10 days… Well it’s Starbucks time.
This act is more than a reward, it’s a form of self-compassion and kindness. It’s as if I am giving myself a gold star for doing my homework and can redeem several stars for one treat. I am the student and the teacher in this scenario. I do the hard work but also give out the reward. It’s served me well the past several years. It may seem ridiculous, but it’s worked.
Bella sits on my lap as we lounge upstairs overlooking the fountain in Plaza de Constitution in Malaga. The breeze comes in, music plays, tourist pop in and out. And I know these moments of tranquil writing time and caffeine will feed the hours of cleaning that will proceed this afternoon and evening.
How do you reward yourself for the tiny chores that you do in your daily life?
Years ago I yearned to be a muse for artists, perhaps this is why I fell for artistic individuals. It didn’t matter if they were painters, writers, or musicians, if they had artistic ability, I was interested. I then began to learn to deepen my own creativity and explore the beauty that existed within.
Numerous paths to art entered my world, such as various forms of dance, writing, collage art, and even the way I chose to dress. With time, I even became a creativity coach to help bring this out in others. I embraced the phrase Frida Kahlo used as an anthem “I am my own muse.” I even got the word “muse” tattooed on my body, as a reminder that I can be my own muse.
And this past week, unknowingly I was one.
After eating lunch at a restaurant in Granada, a woman waved me over. I had noted she had a sketch pad earlier in the hour, but I didn’t think anything of it. She proceeded to show me the drawings she created of me, as I was talking with my friend. I snapped these two photos to capture the moment, and was honored.
She was a fellow tourist, from the UK, exploring Andalucia with her husband. For a moment, she chose to have an artist date, and offered to show me what she completed. We shared brief life bios, and went on about our days. It was a brief but heart warming exchange.
These sometimes serve as the most fascinating parts of travel, happenstance occurrences with strangers. We could impact each other through philosophical conversations, travel tip assistance, or physically helping another with their luggage. Energy is mutually exchanged. Who knows, you may even sometimes serve as another’s muse.
One thing I have appreciated about living in Europe is going to local markets, particularly when the crowds are quiet and the selections are abundant. Yet this week, I went on Saturday midday. On Saturdays, Atarazana market in Malaga is filled with of tourists and family members buying produce for the week. As usual, my favorite stall was full, but I quietly waited my turn in line. When my turn arose, an elder Spanish lady began saying she was before me “Soy proxima.” “I am next,” she said. But both stall workers and me knew this wasn’t the truth. I acted like I didn’t understand what she was saying. I didn’t want to get an attitude or did not have the energy to correct her in Spanish. She complained about me to the other people in line. She continued to complain to the stall owner, repeating his name and saying in Spanish how he is wrong and she was next.
There were many ways he could have reacted. He could have caved to her, as she was probably a more frequent customer than me. She had probably been buying him for years, versus months. He could have argued back with her, using anger against anger. Instead he chose an unthinkable action. He laughed it off, he showed he could win this argument with his jolly nature versus unkind words. He chose to smile instead of sneer.
As I left the scene of the crime, I realized I too had a choice in this moment. I could carry the hostility she threw my way. I could react with frustration at the next person I interacted with. I could ruminate on the frustration of being right, but the fact she still continued to complain about me. I could have exacerbated this issue and generalized how she acted towards me was how all Spanish people behaved. I could have allowed this moment to turn towards enlivening hatred at the experience of being a foreigner living in Spain.
But I chose to live in the way of that jolly food stall owner. I shrugged it off. I admit it wasn’t with enough levity as he did. But if he could let it go, so could I. We are often given examples of negative ways in how to act, negativity is contagious. But so is kindness. This is the reason I created this blog years ago. It only takes a smile, kindness can be just as contagious as negative vibes. I want to emphasize it’s important to witness and catch the moments we go against these tendencies, and shift towards the opportunity of reframe. Teachable opportunities are available for us, if we are willing to humble ourselves, reframe, and learn, even from the local market stall owner. Gracias
Sometimes trips just aren’t what you have planned. This was the case this past week. Without getting into the details, I was left stranded in a country which I didn’t speak the language, 40 minutes from the city center by train, with a heavy bicycle, on a date that went bad who wanted me to go cycling in the sand. It’s been 8 years since I bicycled, and he thought bicycling in the sand would be a good idea. He left our trip together, and I was stranded to fend for myself navigating back to Riga on these trains from the Soviet Times. I had to lift a bicycle up and down these massive steps with doors that were difficult to open. Luckily strangers helped me in this moment bring the bike in before the train doors closed. When the train worker came by so I could pay for my ticket, I said “Riga.” She said No! She didn’t speak English, and a passenger said in broken English. “Wrong way, how did you do this?” I didn’t know. It was a moment I wanted to break down and cry. I had to get off at the next stop, and do this all over again for the next train on the opposite track. I was stuck carrying this heavy bicycle in a land where I didn’t know the language and I physically had to have strangers help me. My date left me stranded, but I was so kind that in broken English people could help me. It was definitely a rom com go bad moment, where things must shift and get better.
I am so grateful in moments like this for humans that are willing to help. Although they didn’t know how much it meant to me at those times, when I felt alone and hurt, their physical presence in assisting me meant the world. I know I will pay it forward in the future, as the saying says “we are all just walking each other home.”
“Kindness is the golden chain by which society is bound together.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
I pilgrimaged to the Black Madonna in Einsiedeln today. I originally was travelling to Zurich in order to visit the small country of Lichtenstein. Then, I realized, there was a Black Madonna here that Carl Jung previously visited and wrote about. It was the Black Madonna that was closest in distance to him, and therefore he wrote about Her. Upon hearing this, I knew where my next pilgrimage would be to. But the journey actually began the week prior.
I had just returned home from a group pilgrimage to the Black Madonna in Italy. I had messaged to confirm with someone I hired from an online app in regards to my dog’s upcoming stay with her. But she cancelled last minute. I struggled to find a new sitter during the height of summer, searching both online and in person. I made numerous requests, including to a friend that lived in Paris who I offered to fly out to Spain. Eventually, prayers were answered. Someone who attended my sound healing class, Manuella, offered to watch Bella. Hearing this meant the world to me.
In this moment, I noted this is where I need to invest in community. I realize being somewhat nomadic, I develop loads of acquaintances but minimal friends. What I truly need at times like these are friends, and having someone offer was so heartfelt. Manuella had come to multiple sound baths, and felt various forms of healing that occurred from then. Although she didn’t state this, I felt she actually was paying back the favor in watching Bella. She was just driving back from France, her home country, the same day I dropped off Bella. Words couldn’t describe how precious and impactful this was. I realized this dog sitting component and numerous other factors all lined up for this to happen. The ease of the train ride, having an entire row to myself on the plane, waking up to my lipstick on my hand in the shape of a heart, having free wifi (since my mobile network isn’t functioning), and the ability to feel safe in a foreign land like Switzerland.
My pilgrimage to Einsiedeln may have been one day long but included walks, a plane ride, and train rides (one that had three transfers). I got minimal sleep due to an early flight, late dog drop off the night prior, and a bit of travel stress that prevented me from falling asleep promptly. On an extended train layover, I opted to get a pretzel baguette filled with curry falafel. The concept of this meal didn’t make sense, numerous cultures hodgepodged together in one sandwich. I hopped on the train and ate this delicious cultural mystery. It was so tasty, and now I had the souvenir of the curry smell all over me.
As I arrived in Einsiedeln, I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to the Abbey. I stepped off the train, walked into the quaint picturesque Swiss town and stumbled into a hiking clothing store. The worker greeted me in German, and I showed her a screenshot I took of the Einsiedeln Abbey. “How do I get here?” I asked. I spoke no German, she walked outside with me to show me where to go so I wouldn’t be confused. I was curious how far would this be. She pointed left and she said, “It’s easy, easy, easy. You walk 1 ½ minutes and you are right there.” I laughed. It wasn’t what I expected. Why step out of the store to show me the directions of where to walk for a 1 minute journey? But I deeply appreciated it. It was as if she was a guide who magically appeared reminding me, “You are almost there” or “It’s only as hard as you make it out to be.”
I finally arrived at the Abbey. The smell of flowers in a mini casita that surrounded her was poignant. The excess of flowers and Her gorgeous sparkly blue gown must have been from the Assumption only one week before. It was apparent that I must have really smelled like curry, which was juxtaposed to the heavenly floral scent. I kneeled in front of the Black Madonna, felt welcomed curry and all, and I cried. I internally heard her say to me, “It’s okay. You can relax now.”
I don’t know if this “relax” statement was in regards to the numerous modes of transportation I endured for the day, the struggle of finding a sitter for Bella, or for receiving word that I had gotten a new dream job the week prior, the culmination of seeing 7 Black Madonnas the preceeding weeks. The smells of the flowers brought back reminders of the floral scents in wakes and funeral of loved ones I have lost. This Black Madonna was different than others. She had round cheeks, felt sweet, regal, and was inclusive of the knowledge and wisdom that both my Ninang and Lola had, and one day my grandmother, mother, and maybe me. I cried and felt held.
The Black Madonna looked as if she was the Queen of the Sea and the Night, in her flashy blue sparkly dress. Her attire changes dependent on what the staff members choose to dress her in for the occasion. I felt lucky that I was visiting in what seemed to be a celebratory occasion. Time passed as I observed Her, and I felt a tiny tension headache arising. I heard Her say to me, “Take care of yourself and come back. Don’t be greedy, let other people have time with me.” These are words mothers would say, the truth laced with sweet kindness and unconditional love. Take care of my needs, which included drinking water and taking bathroom break, buy some souvenirs and come back. This is what I did.
I am learning to have a different experience with Her this past month. It’s different than the past, of just thinking of problems or things I want when I visit a new church or see another Black Madonna. It’s as if I was putting an order in the universe. Now as I sat in front of her, I tried to listen to my body. How did my body feel in Her presence? What was being said? What images or intuitive hits am I receiving? I generally ensure I sit as close to her as possible, and take time to journal in front of her to note all that is arising.
If I really listened, I began to discern how each Black Madonna has a different feeling. Her facial expressions are different and what She stands for is different. The energy She commands and the people that are devotees of her are all different. But it’s taken solitude and inquiry to explore what is truly arising in this moment.
As I left the church, a little Indian boy grabbed my hand, as I walked past a café. His parents laughed and apologized for him. I am not sure what he saw in me. The gold I wore that was shiny and flashy, something playful in my youthful walk, someone brown in a sea of whiteness therefore I looked familiar. I too laughed it off, but was curious what did he know, what did he see? Maybe he was someone who simply wanted to share his joy for that moment, with a stranger.
I write this now in a café, accessing some free wifi, and another stranger is kind enough to let me use her charger (as I brought the wrong kind). She was Albanian, living in Italy, and staying with her family in Zurich. She offered this, when she saw me struggling trying one usb charger after another on the whole floor of this coffee shop. She said, “we all need to charge our devices.” It was another reminder that we are here to support each other on this journey of life, whether it’s a passing stranger offering a usb, a young boy giving a gentle nudge of the hand, store worker going out of her way to give directions, or an acquaintance offering to watch your dog. Oftentimes we see how we give to the world, but how often do we see how the world gives back to us?
If I continue to have a soft gaze as I interact with the world today, I will notice the grace that arises in my interactions with all that I meet. I will see the connection all of us have, and the longing for something more. There’s a sense of gratitude as I engage with the world, knowing I am supported by the Black Madonna, all travel guides, angels, and the kindness of strangers.
On my return flight of my 2 ½ week trip to Italy, I lost my leather bound journal. Actually, I left it on the plane. I didn’t realize this until hours later, when I was at home. And my first thoughts were, I hope the person who finds the journal will be excited and use it.
I had this journal for two years, and recently found it in storage when I was in the states. It was given to me as a birthday gift from my mother, and had an inscription from mother to mother on the front. But the extra special meaning was I took it on my pilgrimage to various Black Madonnas in Italy. Inside the brown leather cover were images of the Black Madonna I collected throughout the week, postcards from various churches. In some ways, it had a dual purpose meaning. It was my biological mother who gave it to me, but the ultimate mother was also gifting it to me.
As I realized I lost it, I wished that whoever finds the journal would find peace and the Black Madonna will watch over them. Maybe this “losing the journal” was a serendipitous event that will bring the finder comfort or joy. Not just in the beauty of the journal, but the images inside.
There were no steamy or juicy secrets written in there. All that was written were reflections and insights gained, potential plans for the future. The rest of the journal had empty pages, futures unwritten. I hope the person who finds it writes in the journal, continues to reflect on their hopes and dreams, and chooses to lean on the Black Madonna for support and guidance.
As I prepare for this next part of my life, I realize I must let go of attachments to things, journals, ideas, and goals. In order for transformations to be made, we must let go and shed old versions of ourselves. In losing this, I am letting go of the old me’s hopes, dreams, and allowing space for the new to enter.
I took the photo above the day before I lost my journal in front of the Black Madonna in Bologna. I spent an hour sitting in front of her, free writing, journaling, and crying. Crowds of people would come in and out, but I remained seated in front of her. In between crying, a stranger looked at me and said “thank you for everything.” We didn’t talk before this or exchange glances. Maybe he just appreciated my energy and devotion. He was dressed in pink and maroon, and thought he was an image or reminder of the divine masculine. And after he said this to me and left the sanctuary, I cried even more. It was a beautiful chance encounter with a stranger that lasted minutes. Therefore, I hope the tears of comfort and realizations blessed in this journal will bring whoever finds it inspiration, joy, and protection.
It’s been 6 days in my 21 day journey, and I knew the time had come. I needed to go to a laundromat. This is something I have avoided when travelling. I think it’s been awhile since I travelled for an extended amount of time and wasn’t visiting family or friends. It’s not an irrational fear to avoid public laundromats in foreign countries while travelling. There was a reason. Years ago, I was robbed. Yes, in my twenties while backpacking Europe for three months, a friend and I went to a laundromat in Florence. I didn’t think much of it as I stuffed my clothes in a machine, I must have only placed my wallet down for 2 minutes. When I looked back, it was gone. Gone was the money and credit cards, but luckily the passport was in the hotel. I was so grateful my friend Crystal was travelling with me during this portion of the journey. It was a three month solo backpacking trip, but for two different portions, I met up with friends. We could lean on Crystal’s credit cards, until I could wait for a replacement card to be sent to the next hotel. Ever since then, I avoid public laundromats at all costs while travelling.
But I was now in Italy again in the middle of summer. My clothes were quite disgusting of discovery days full of sweat. The hotel didn’t have a laundry service. I had no other choice. This was the prime time to do laundry, I was on the chilled out island of Lampedusa. I didn’t dare do laundry in Naples, where I was returning to. And so viola, I headed to the laundromat.
Although it was only 930 am, it was already in the 90s. I was filled with sweat on my walk, and upon arrival at the laundromat I noted all were full. There were three machines, one was broken, and two were in use. I would wait for the remaining 17 minutes. First I waited inside, but there was no air circulation, I could only feel the hot air of the machines doing their jobs. One woman folded her laundry, with a hair wrap to keep the sweat from her face. We commented on the heat, her in Italian, me in pantomime.
This was my opportunity to reframe the experience. I brought a book to read as I used my Spanish abanico to cool me down. This wouldn’t be so bad. Eventually the time came for me to load the wash, and after I did, I sat outside waiting for the time to pass. Another woman sat outside with me waiting for her load in the dryer. She wore all white, a white fitted tee shirt and white ripped jeans that seemed to have a faint stain of coffee in the back. I had seen her earlier on the phone, talking to someone on the phone. It was most probably her husband, as she rolled her eyes in desperation and leaned over a table looking exasperated. I don’t know if her dramatic attempts were for me, if she thought her partner could see this on the phone, or it was the only way to act out with her partner in public privacy.
There were many older men hanging in the streets at this hour. I wondered if they were there because it was yet to be high noon and stores were open, or they left their homes so the women could do the house work. Maybe one of those men was her husband. This could be why this woman was acting over the top, she felt I could relate to her experience as a woman doing laundry in a hot laundromat on a Sunday.
We sat on a bench outside, she offered a cigarette. I politely declined, but thought to myself “how Italian.” We are cleaning our clothes so they can smell fresh and clean, but her laundry would then be folded with her nicotine covered hands.
I appreciated her warm gesture of the cigarette, perhaps she wanted to connect in the only way she knew how due to the disparity in our verbal communication. Maybe I should have taken the cigarette, even though I don’t smoke, to accept her kindness. This was a corrective experience from my previous Italian theft laundromat story. Now it was a moment of connection with a stranger, we sat commiserating in the heat, two women waiting for our laundry on a Saturday afternoon.
It Only Takes A Smile 