I usually try not to dwell on the past, but it came to mind in an unexpectedly joyous way today.
Having no washer or dryer at our place has few advantages, but getting some steps in—along with a nice dose of clothes-ridden farmer’s carries—is one of them. So I waddled over to the laundromat early this morning. A laundromat is a peculiar and somewhat astonishing place for many reasons, but one that particularly stands out is its status as one of the few operations left in our crypto-crazy world that uses (in fact, requires!) coins. Those metallic symbols, some shinier and more coveted than others, are still the only thing that will let you dry your clothes at the Stanford Coin Wash.
Out of coins? Not a problem—behold the magical apparatus that hungrily sucks up your ones, fives, tens, and even twenties and promptly makes it rain quarters with a sound that is utterly satisfying. This only happens if the machine is “in order”, though, which it was not on this particular morning. I was left with a double-armful of reasonably damp clothes, staring at the empty washers and dryers around me as if the laundromat’s owner would sense my predicament and materialize from one of the circular portals of cleanliness. He did no such thing.
I wanted to exhaust all options before heading to a nearby coffee shop to try and explain why I needed a handful of quarters, so I gave my chunky wallet ago, and behold! In its little zip section, which I didn’t think I had ever made use of prior to today, lay six quarters—some shiny, some quite dirty, but all worth 25 cents and deemed permissible by the dryer. They were just enough for a full cycle, and I left the laundromat thinking about my Mom.
Growing up, our Toyota Highlander hybrid, primarily driven by my Mom, was essentially a CVS. Need a snack? The jar of smoky almonds never ran out. Got too much snot on your arm after sneezing? An abundance of tissues was available. Feel like giving the drive-through lady exact change for your coffee? The little area next to the cupholder was basically a bank in itself. The same went for her purse, not dissimilar to Mary Poppins.
I took this for granted growing up. I could just rely on these seemingly random but— given the right situation that would inevitably arise—amazingly gratifying and useful objects being there when I needed them. And what is quite obvious but seems to strike me as increasingly marvelous these days is that they didn’t get there by themselves. Yup, my Mom put them there because she knew someone would get hangry, sneeze too hard, or need some coins for the parking meter. However rare these instances were, they were all but guaranteed to happen at some sort of interval, and when they did, all involved parties, Mom included, were sure glad that these objects were nestled in their all-too-familiar spots in the car or purse.
Back in the laundromat, I couldn’t quite remember when I had put those quarters in my wallet. It seemed like more of a find-$20-in-your-jacket pocket type of moment. Rarely do we put the $20 there intentionally—rather, it’s a moment of surprising joy, a small fist bump to our forgetfulness. But I’m not entirely sure this was one of those. I think some version of my past self, invoking my Mom’s example, put those quarters in my wallet knowing that there would come a time when the magic quarter machine wouldn’t work. He knew how good those almonds tasted when my ten-year-old self longed for a snack that was otherwise hours away, and he knew that the unexpected delight felt by my future self might turn an entire day around. He didn’t know that day would be today, but I’m glad he picked up a thing or two from my Mom.
So here’s to the mini, often-forgotten investments we make in our future selves. The times we lay out our clothes the night before, buy an extra box of band-aids to stash in our backpack, or set a reminder in our calendar for two weeks from now to call a loved one. The difference they make, however big or small, is a reminder to keep paying it forward—to ourselves and to others—in a cycle of sweet serendipity.
I’m so happy you remembered my bottomless, prepared purse! I’m smiling ear to ear! Wow! This blog brought back so many wonderful memories. And I thank Papou for most of it. “Always carry some cash, fill up the tank at 1/4 full, don’t drive behind a car carrying a mattress, ,……..” to mention only a few. I pass the torch to you now, one quarter at a time. 💙