No matter where you are in life, you have laundry.  In my 87 years, I have sat in laundromats depositing an increasing number of quarters, lugged laundry baskets of cloth (yes!) diapers down to a basement, and had lovely conversations in the laundry room of my former apartment building that will be demolished next month.

But as I write this, I hear the comforting noise of my laundry spinning in my own apartment.  It’s true that my washer and dryer are small, but they are right here!

And speaking of laundry, let me report that my ironing board is now 65 years old, I don’t know why I got this prize when my three roommates and I split up years ago.  It’s had a few new covers, but it’s in better shape than most 65-year-olds.

My children will likely fight over this antique someday—but hopefully,

Not anytime soon.