A Day of Rest

February 10, 2008

Today, like so many Sundays, wasn't a day of rest, but rather a day for laundry and grocery shopping. Although there are a couple of coin-operated washing machines in our building's basement, their constant state of disrepair, along with our fear of bed bugs, keeps us from using them. Instead, we take our overstuffed bags to the laundromat a few blocks away. Calmed by the soothing hum of industrial-sized washers and dryers, we sat reading National Geographic magazines until the spin cycle was done.

"Look at these undersea creatures," I said, pointing to an enhanced and magnified photograph of a splash of seawater crowded with dozens of fantasy and science fiction monsters — some nothing more than shapeless, colorful blobs, and others looking like intricate crystalline prehistoric skeletons.

Deborah showed me the article she was reading about Java Island in Indonesia. There was a photograph of a particular tribe of island natives making a sacrifice to one of the many active volcanoes, hoping to appease it by twirling a sacrificial chicken overhead a few times and then flinging it into the volcano's mouth.

"That ought to do it," I said.

Another tribe used what looked like butterfly nets to toss fake money into another volcano.

"They don't believe anything the scientists tell them," said Deborah.

"I can understand that," I said, "But is fake money really a sacrifice?"

"You're right. They need to find some virgins."

"Totally. I'm no expert, but if I were a volcano, fake money and chickens would only make me mad."

Someone dropped a couple of real quarters into one of the video games nearby, adding to the ambiance with occasional blips and bloops. I thought about the laundry card we were required to buy to use the washers and dryers, how I'd taken my real money and turned it into a plastic card that's only good for one thing at one place, and how somewhere in my wallet is another card with credit from another laundromat that I may never use.

What a racket.

I turned a few pages of my magazine to photos from the Hubble space telescope — incomprehensibly large clouds of gases, stars, and galaxies. Not just burps of molten lava, but entire molten planets and exploding stars.

Deborah turned her page, and there was a photograph of a village buried under several feet of mud from Java's mud volcano disaster. Drilling for natural gas had somehow unleashed a giant mud explosion, which engulfed several villages and displaced thousands of people. Apparently, it's still flowing today, a year and a half later.

"Oh my god," said Deborah. "Look at that. Imagine? Those are rooftops. The whole village is under mud."

"Maybe they should feed their volcanoes a more balanced diet."

"That's horrible. A mud volcano. I've never heard of such a thing. That's one of the worst things I've ever seen."

"Even worse than a volcano spewing hot molten lava?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know, either."

I thought the laundromat had taken care of my domestic duties, but after our laundry was done, Deborah asked if I felt like driving her to the grocery store. She had spent most of the previous night picking over recipes from cookbooks and websites, and had made a list of ingredients she needed to buy.

"How long is your list?" I asked.

"Not very long."

"How long will it take?"

"I'll be as fast as I can."

"Do you mind if I don't come in?"

"No, I know you hate grocery shopping. But what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll walk around and take some pictures."

"It's getting cold outside."

The wind was blowing in gusts, and the morning's mild temperature had dropped at least ten degrees. I was underdressed.

"Maybe I'll just take a nap."

"In the car?"

"Sure."

The seats in the pickup truck don't recline very far — they don't recline at all, really — which makes it hard to nap, but thinking about the alternative of squeezing through narrow aisles, bumping into other zombie shoppers, trying to locate a variety of ingredients in an unfamiliar store, made me so tired that it didn't matter. I just contemplated the infinity of space, from the tiny microscopic sea creatures to the ever-expanding universe, and conked out immediately.

I woke up about a half hour later, stiff and disoriented. I looked around to get my bearings and noticed the parking lot was filled. A couple of cars were looping around the lot, waiting for a spot. I counted three other guys sitting in their cars, like me. One guy was smoking, another playing with his cell phone, and the third just staring blankly through his window. I stretched my neck a little bit, folded my arms, and went back to sleep.

I take it back. I suppose it was a day of rest.

"Thanks for driving me," said Deborah after we got home and unloaded all she'd bought.

"No problem," I said. "Thanks for shopping. Teamwork makes the dreamwork. Of course, I did the hardest part, but you did what you could."