Brownie

When I was a kid we lived in a house in New Mexico. This was the only house I remember ever living in that had a washing machine. Not washer and dryer, but a washer, then the clothes would be hung on the line
in the back yard.
The washing machine had a big, black, hard, rubber tube that went from the back of the washing machine, through a hole, hand cut through the back door, and then it stretched out to the field behind the house. So the water would come out of the back of the washer and go through the tube and go in to the field. UNLESS, it was really cold. In that scenario, we would all be whittling or folk dancing, then hear a rushing flood of water coming in to the house because the tube was frozen. People would run from all directions of the house to turn off the washing machine. But by that time, most of the floor was under about an inch of water.
My room, was a living room, or common area of the house. I was 19 and had my little baby in her crib in the middle of the house. People would walk through my 'room' to get to other parts of the house. I would put my finger up to my lips as people would walk my direction, "Shh. Did you not see a teen with her infant trying to sleep on a bed in the middle of the living room? Damn man."
Because the location of my room was right next to the elegant laundry room, I was usually the first one to hear the flooding of the washing machine. I would run fast and pull the nob and say, "Fuuuuuuck!" Then we would mop for about three hours. When I say mop, I exaggerate. We didn't have a mop. We used towels that would now need to be washed. It was a system ment to break us and kick our asses every single day. We will not be broken.
So if God had mercy on our souls, and we actually got to wash a load of clothes, we would then hang them on the line in the yard. Another catch. Winter in New Mexico can be really, really cold. So when you went out later that day to remove the dry clothing, they would be not dry AND they would be frozen solid. You could stand a pair of Levi's straight up and lean them against the wall. Frozen solid. So the clothes would be laying on chairs and tables all over the house. Clothing everywhere. It was common to eat a bowl of cereal in the 'V' of an arm pit of a shirt laying on the kitchen table. When you sat on the couch, most of the time your back rested on drying towels or jeans and there was always a pile of soaking wet towels sitting by the washing machine.
When I was a kid, I really didn't have any idea we were hillbilly, gypsies, until one Christmas. We were in the Goodwill store. My mother picked up this little brown stuffed animal puppy. She said, "Oh! This is cute, don't you think?" I look at it, "Yeah. Who's that for?" She says, "For the 'needy' people." I thought, thank God because it has a huge stain right on it's back.
Christmas morning, I wake up, open my gift, fucking brown shit stained dog. I was about seven. I thought, "Holy fucking shit. We ARE the NEEDY!" I didn't want to name the dog because I didn't plan on keeping it. But at some point I started calling him 'Brownie' because that's what color the stain on his back was.
I complain about my life. I have a washer, dryer and a mop. I write and look out at the pool. We don't have any money, but our not having any money is so different than my parents not having any money. When my parents didn't have money, it was like complete darkness. I mean, we didn't have any electricity. That kind of dark.
I kept that stuffed dog for a long, long time. It seemed like no one wanted it. Actually, no one did want it so I had it for years. I was in my living room/ bedroom with my baby Jen, I heard the flooding, I jump up with the infant in my grasp and run through the water and pull the nob. I see the water rolling down the step of my room, where 'Brownie' was tucked in a corner. It was like slow motion... holding a tiny baby and running, screaming, it echoed... "Nooooooo!" By the time I get there, the shit stained dog was soaking wet. I put it on a window ledge to let it dry. Frozen solid. Eventually, it dried, but it had a bad smell. So now it's stained AND it smells. Good bye Brownie. We had quite a run, you and me. The shit stained dog and the little girl from the 'needy' family.
So my life is different thanks to my husband who works like a dog as oppose to my father who drank like a fish. My husband complains because he says I'm doing to much laundry, and the electric bill is going up. The other day I said, "Can you hear yourself? Can you see who you're talking to? I don't do laundry! Unless we run out of clothes! And you think I'm doing chores behind your back? Hello!"
Oh... Brownie. I miss you.