Rainy Manhattan | The Cozy Launderette

Travel through time to Manhattan in 1970, to enjoy an autumn block party with the beloved members of the laundry club. A rain storm rolls in at the festival's end and you retreat to the cozy basement launderette to enjoy a night of tea and community. You return to your charming apartment with a quilt freshly warmed by the dryer and fall asleep to the sound of falling rain. It's time to dream away.

Transcript

Fall asleep fast in this calm sleep story and guided bedtime meditation for deep sleep.

You are listening to Rainy Manhattan,

A bedtime story for grownups and part of the Cozy Laundrette series.

Travel through time to Manhattan in 1970 to enjoy an annual block party.

Surrounded by a loving community,

Stalls line the block of historic brownstones to sell handcrafted gifts and autumnal treats,

Bringing the community together.

As the festival ends,

A storm moves in,

And you retreat to the cozy launderette of a brownstone to gather with the quirky beloved members of the Laundry Club.

Rain pelts against the basement windows,

With the chilly promise of winter's return as you nestle in the warm air that smells of clean laundry.

You return to your charming apartment with a freshly laundered quilt and fall asleep to the sounds of a rainy night in Manhattan.

It's time to dream away.

I would like to welcome you to Michelle's Sanctuary.

I am Michelle and as you tune in,

Think of me as a dear and trustworthy friend and guide.

As your ally,

I encourage you to use your imagination to self-soothe before sleep.

This magical transitional time is your bridge between your waking and sleeping life.

You have earned every moment of peace,

Comfort,

And joy that you harvest right now.

Any thoughts that do not serve you may be placed on the highest shelf of a closet and revisited at another time.

Now is the time for soothing thoughts and serenity.

Trust the details of the meditation and story to come in a way that most appeals to your needs and desires.

You may let go of my voice at any point,

Should sleep arrive early with its comforting embrace.

You know better than anyone what works for you.

Trust yourself infinitely.

As you get cozy and settle into your bed,

Appreciate the gift it is to be safe within the sanctuary of your room.

Appreciate the power you have to cultivate a haven within your mind.

And in the theme of the laundry club,

Imagine your bedding is freshly warm from the dryer and smells clean as it hugs around your tired body.

Let your muscles become soft and imagine a laundry basket the size of a bed,

Filled with fluffy blankets and plush fabrics of beloved sweaters and garments.

Imagine sinking into it as it conjures sensations of being swaddled as a small child,

Tended to and nurtured.

In this homey place for rest,

Open your mouth and yawn.

Every time you yawn,

Your body receives a message to relax.

Your brain waves slow down.

It feels so good that you may wish to yawn again and then let out a sigh.

Sink into the tenderness of the moment coming down from the day.

When you are ready,

Inhale deeply,

Imagining you are breathing in air warmed by a dryer,

Aromatized by clean cotton and laundered dowels.

Open your mouth and yawn again.

And exhale in a delicious sigh.

Let everything go.

Enjoy one more round of this pattern of breath and release at your own pace as you inhale,

Yawn and sigh.

Expanding,

Releasing,

Surrendering.

In this deep state of peace and relaxation,

Your imagination is free to flourish and enhance your listening experience as it's time for the story to begin.

There are times in life when a single hug and a cup of tea shared among friends can cast away life's hardest moments.

When one may slip away from the coldness of the world by peering into the empathetic eyes of a dear loved one to instantly feel less alone,

There are melodies and songs,

Paintings,

Films and shows that foster hope and cultivate beauty out of sadness to shine a light on the timeless plight of humanity.

And few places in the world offer as many human connections and accessibility to creative souls and their works as the city of New York.

West 69th Street,

Between Columbus and Broadway,

Just one block from the autumnal glory of Central Park is one of the most enviable streets on the Upper West Side.

It has a strong community that cares deeply about its neighborhood and garnishes the block with the most festive decorations for every season and holiday.

Block parties attract the most eclectic gatherings of artists and dreamers into melting pot of unique souls that celebrate diversity while offering unity.

Each autumn on the cusp of winter,

Wooden stalls and tables line the sidewalks for a festival.

Residents of the historic block lined with brownstones and five-story stone dwellings come together and reveal their talents on a Sunday afternoon.

A breeze off Central Park carries the sweet aroma of decaying foliage as dried leaves rustle in minicyclones moving from east to west.

Puffs of steam rise from various stalls that offer a diverse array of international street foods that fill the air with savory smells and spices.

Knitted and crocheted shawls and scarves in the popular earth tones that mark a carryover from 1960s fashion are strewn across wooden tables crafted by members of the West 69th Street Block Association.

Yvonne,

A palm reader and fortune teller who resides in a basement apartment on the corner of Broadway,

Offers readings at a mosaic cafe table outside her home.

Nearly everyone on the block has received a loving word of unsolicited advice from Yvonne during their daily stroll or morning commute.

Even the most skeptical have found her insights helpful.

Amid the skyscrapers of downtown,

The bustling thoroughfare on Broadway,

And the waves of tourists who come to town to experience the Thanksgiving Parade and holiday celebrations at Rockefeller Center,

West 69th Street offers the welcoming charm of a neighborhood that most people fail to imagine when visiting the Big Apple from afar.

It feels like a small village tucked within a city teeming with the frenetic energy of millions of souls.

The charm of the street washes over you like a sigh.

It's a welcome respite and a place for repose.

On the most pleasant of days,

One may sip coffee while reading the times perched on a brownstone stoop.

Throughout the 20th century,

Artists such as Judy Garland and John Lennon could be spotted walking West 69th Street,

Taking in its beauty on a crisp November day,

Stepping away from the splendor of the residences in the Dakota.

But on this day in 1970,

You stand among your neighbors and fellow members of the Laundry Club.

You help with the sales of dozens of pastries,

Pies,

Cookies,

And muffins baked by Madeline,

A young pastry chef who will one day own a shop that people will travel around the world to visit.

Always fashionable,

She wears a camel-hued crushed velvet and faux fur lined coat that cinches around her tiny waist.

Her delicate hands often smell of butter and almond paste,

Her skin soft and supple,

From hours of kneading and folding butter into flour.

The late afternoon sun this time of year hits the windows of high-rises to the north and saturates the low-rise buildings to the south in gilded light.

And while daylight hours shorten,

The radiance of this golden light reflecting southerly at this angle is more concentrated and glows richer than in the warmest months.

It offers hope on the coldest of winter days.

The special light pours over the table of baked goods and lands on your face to warm you,

As you sell one of the last cranberry apple muffins to a five-year-old boy bundled in a navy blue scarf and pea coat.

Ed,

The newest and most quirky member of your building,

Has just celebrated his first anniversary with a laundry club.

He stands at the end of the table with a stack of business cards labeled tips from Ed.

Everything from recommendations and getting lipstick stains out of shirt collars to his recommended marinade for grilling,

LGA like the airport he explains to a small gathering of neighbors.

It's an easy acronym to take your palate places,

L for lemon,

G for garlic,

And A for anchovy paste.

Give it a try with your holiday turkey.

So long as the man shall live,

His only goal is to share knowledge and make things easier for people.

Dorothy,

His high school sweetheart and one true love,

Has left Ed to his own devices for the afternoon as she prepares to take the stage in the heart of the block and perform with a three-piece band.

Her voice has aged like a fine wine and has only become smokier and deeper since she retired from Broadway and began singing in clubs in her 60s.

The upright bass player plucks at the strings to tune his instrument,

And the deep sounds resonate through the chatter of patrons like a heartbeat for the block.

Charlie the building super crafts animals out of long balloons,

And so far his elephant hat has become the most requested creation.

The silly inflated headpiece appears multiple times throughout the crowd,

On the heads of excited children hopped up on sugar confections and invigorated by the crisp air.

Even they know the fickle winter months are upon them.

As the copper leaves mottle the closed off street and crunch beneath Oxford's Mary Jane's and Nehi boots,

Come nightfall the rain will make them slick and malleable like abandoned traces of wet cardboard.

A couple of grey clouds roll in from the east to forewarn of rain on the way.

You take a break and walk away from the table,

Leaving Madeline to sell her treats,

And Ed to boast his solutions to everything.

You walk by a phonograph for sale,

And finger through wooden milk crates teaming with used vinyl records including Sinatra,

Garland and Bing Crosby.

These albums were lovingly played to the point that their captivating covers have become dog-eared and faded from time.

Yvonne the fortune teller makes eye contact with you across the crowd,

And you feel drawn to her.

Perhaps this isn't something you would ever consider exploring in life,

But in this time and place,

Your curiosity leads you to her mosaic table.

She invites you to take a seat,

And asks to hold your palms in hers.

A burgundy tapered candle flickers in the breeze,

The flame miraculously continuing to burn as amber light shines on Yvonne's face.

Her demeanor is intense,

Yet motherly.

She looks into your eyes and smiles with great compassion.

I can tell you may be skeptical of what I say,

And so before I say much,

Remember that you have the power to determine your fate.

The smallest choices can have the greatest implications,

And chances are I will say things that you already know.

The sounds of children playing,

Of Dorothy singing a hoagie Carmichael tune,

And the patter of rustling leaves seem to mute as she traces your poem and says these words.

My dear,

There are times in your life that you have looked over your needs and desires to appease something or someone else.

For the future you desire,

Find a quiet place to listen to the voice deep within,

And if you know something to be true in the deepest parts of you,

It's your job to protect it and nurture it.

That's a practice.

Her eyes seem to change from a sparkling shade of violet to deep indigo.

You smile and thank her kindly,

And she says,

Of course my dear,

This is a city for dreamers.

Keep sight of your dreams.

As you return to Madeline and Ed,

You feel caught between two worlds.

In one world,

You connect with the autumn splendor of Manhattanites enjoying the festival,

And the soulful melody of Dorothy's voice accompanied by brush strokes on a snare drum.

In another world,

You encounter a sweet reverie,

Aligned with your dreams and what you have always wanted for your life.

The members of the laundry club have always offered a safe place for you to be the version of yourself that feels best.

They are ardent supporters of each other's dreams.

Ed's voice snaps you out of this daydream.

He smiles broadly at you and declares,

My tips were a success,

Not a single card left.

Madeline offers the remaining eclairs and black and white cookies to a gaggle of school-aged kids tantalized by the treats,

Yet short on funds.

Earlier in the day,

They had all shared one cookie together.

Every Halloween,

Madeline's oversized cookies are the most desired treats by trick-or-treaters.

She goes through thousands.

In this time before technology will bring a constant stream of updates,

People are in tune with the weather.

You overhear a few neighbors saying,

I can feel a storm coming in.

And by the sight of those clouds,

We have about ten minutes.

Word travels down the block,

And the festivities wrap up quickly,

About an hour before planned.

Not a trace of activity remains by the time the storm arrives.

Night lamps turn on,

Forming halos and prisms in the misty air of twilight.

The darkness makes early evening hours feel like midnight.

And after a day of outdoor adventures,

Everyone on West 69th Street is ready to tuck into their apartments and enjoy a night in.

Charlie places the last balloon animal on Ed's head as Tom and Dorothy arrive.

Charlie and Tom bring the table into the building,

And you hold the door for Dorothy and Madeline,

And peer out as rain splats on the sidewalk.

Madeline gently presses your arm and says she's saved the best treats for the group,

And to meet them all in the cozy launderette in a few.

You pause on the doorway and peer out on the city street.

It's hard to believe mere moments ago,

The street was festive and overflowing with people and confections,

But the energy of New York's streets can shift and change as quickly as a tide.

You inhale the smell of wet rain and slick city pavement as it marries the aroma of wood burning fires stoked in the fireplaces of pre-war apartments.

A yellow taxi rolls slowly down the street,

Now open to traffic.

Its headlights illuminate a veil of rain that dances like moon dust in the light.

A young couple scurries into their basement apartment before the rain comes down heavily.

Wet golden leaves scatter across the street like postage stamps,

And the pavement becomes a charcoal mirror that reflects the cityscape like an oil painting.

You look out at the dozens of windows that give glimpses into stories that unfold all around you.

The guilty pleasure of voyeurism is known to every New Yorker at some point,

But she'll penetrate your bones as the temperature drops,

But you welcome the sensation as it causes you to feel alive and come out of the thoughts that dance in your mind.

This passing chill makes you deeply appreciative of the cozy basement bonderette and the allure of being among friends.

The heavy door slowly closes behind you,

Squeaking softly and creating a barrier between you and the city.

The intimacy you feel in this modest dwelling is enhanced by the smell of the fresh laundry and warm tea that travels up the basement stairs.

Rain patters against the front door,

And the wind whips down the street to emancipate the last clusters of leaves hanging from skeletal trees.

White holiday lights wrap around the banister that leads to the cavernous hallway outside the laundry.

Raindrops lie down a small window in the stairwell that peers out onto the courtyard.

Forgotten jack-o-lanterns become soggy in the rain,

Collapsing into themselves as leaves float across rippling puddles.

You hear the soft drum of the dryers in motion and the murmurs of your neighbors who have gathered before you.

The dryers and a clanky silver heat pipe create a warm oasis from the cold.

Over the summer,

Charlie carved a wooden sign that reads,

The Laundry Club,

Established 1969,

Which makes the door to the Launderette look like the entry to a speakeasy.

Candles and Tiffany lamps illuminate the room,

And everyone has settled in their favorite spots.

Dorothy has tea prepared to your preferences waiting,

A maple harvest blend that offers a nuttiness and slight sweetness.

You perch yourself on the sofa against a crocheted throw blanket,

Warm from the dryer.

Madeleine brings you a rustic apple caramel tart and a gold-rimmed floral plate.

The thinly sliced fruit forms a spiral,

Glistening in a brown glaze.

It's so beautiful you almost don't want to eat it.

You look around the room at the soul surrounding you,

And feel as though you always do.

But this is your family,

Your chosen family.

A family organically formed because everyone in this room longed to be part of something bigger.

Tom sits cross-legged in a plush velvet armchair with a balloon animal in the shape of a chipmunk on his head.

He's comically paired with his collegiate tweed sweater with shoulder patches and brown slacks.

He rifles through a book of poems as the rest of the club rehashes the happenings of the day.

Word about the laundry club has spread throughout the block and neighborhood,

And other laundry clubs have begun to form.

In fact,

Some have become so popular that those without basement laundries beg to stop by.

You close your eyes and sip the tea and listen to the animated chatter of your neighbors.

Ed massages Dorothy's shoulders gently and speaks proudly about her performance.

Everyone knows he's going to propose to Dorothy on New Year's Eve,

Except her.

He nervously spent the summer months inquiring about everyone's opinions on rings and the perfect location in Central Park to do it.

It took nearly 50 years for Dorothy and Ed to reconnect,

And their lives took many different turns to bring them back together.

Looking at them,

You feel hope.

It's never too late to find love again.

Ed suggests a game of charades before Tom's routine poetry reading.

Being the most theatrical of the group,

He's the first to go and portrays an ice skater in Rockefeller Center.

He nearly trips over a basket of laundry in good fun,

And everyone laughs.

Dorothy goes next and depicts Sleeping Beauty.

A series of yawns infect the room at the mere mention of sleep.

The somnolent sounds of rain and the white noise of the dryer carry on.

When it's your turn,

You are surprised by how carefree it feels to portray your favorite holiday activity.

Caught in the moment,

You are taken back to a time in your life before society had schooled you into behaving a certain way and being more responsible.

It was a time when life was about learning through creative play.

You feel pure delight when Madeline quickly guesses your charade.

It feels good to be seen,

Heard,

And understood.

Peels of laughter echo through the warm,

Comforting room,

Followed by sighs and then silence.

The machines stop turning,

And the laundry is done.

The familiarity with one another makes silence come easily,

As welcome as conversation.

The sounds of rain dripping from gutters and pattering against the narrow basement windows fill the silence until Tom declares,

Who would like to read tonight's poem?

He looks at you,

And you nod,

Happy to oblige.

You rest the heavy,

Burgundy volume of poetry on your lap and trace the title of the poem he selected before beginning.

Type by Walter de Lamar.

Men all in birds and creeping beasts,

When the dark of night is deep,

From the moving wonder of their lives,

Commit themselves to sleep.

Without a thought or fear they shut the narrow gates of sense,

Heedless and quiet,

In slumber turn,

Their strength to impotence.

The transient strangeness of the earth,

Their spirits no more see.

In a silent gloom withdrawn,

They slumber in secrecy.

To worlds they have a globe forgot,

Wheeling from dark to light,

And all the enchanted realm of dream that burgins out of night.

A silent pause comes after you finish,

And think about the enchanted realm of a dream that is the cozy basement launderette.

It is a sacred place and time to commune,

And remind you that you are loved and part of the type of gathering so many people long to find.

The world is less lonely,

The city is less intimidating,

And the simple pleasures in life are amplified by moments shared with a laundry club.

In a familiar routine,

The teacups and saucers are washed,

Clean laundry is gathered and folded,

And one by one the members of the club slip away to their apartments.

Feeling connected even when separated by walls,

Soft sounds travel through the building as friendly reminders,

You are never alone.

You are surrounded by your chosen family.

You gather your heavy quilt from the dryer and a few towels and fold them,

Carefully stacking them as you are the last to leave the launderette.

You ascend the steps to your apartment,

Feeling tired and quite sluggish.

Your arms and legs softly burn with each step,

A pleasant reminder of your muscles and their strength as you count your ascent to the second floor.

The busyness of the day catches up to you.

One,

Two,

Three,

Four,

Five,

Six.

You inhale deeply as you continue up the final steps,

Seven,

Eight,

Nine,

Ten,

Eleven,

Twelve,

Thirteen,

Fourteen.

You arrive at the landing and exhale,

And walk down the hallway and open the door to your apartment.

Your pet comes to greet you and brushes against your legs.

You bring the laundered quilt to the bedroom and spread it out.

You feed your pet and as they feast,

You go to the bathroom and wash the day away from your face.

You bury your nose into the fresh towel and sigh,

Ready for bed.

The rain falls outside your windows and you peer out onto the glistening straight.

The whispers of Yvonne echo through your mind.

This is the city of dreamers,

And you are a dreamer.

You enter the bedroom and change into a button-up cotton pajama shirt and pants that you retrieve from an antique armoire.

You go to your bed,

Peel back the freshly laundered quilt and sheets and climb atop the mattress.

The weighty quilt hugs around you and you drift between wakefulness and sleep as your pet curls up into a ball at the end of the bed.

To travel on a familiar wave of love and appreciation for this night of community and laughter,

These are the moments you will look back on as some of the most beloved of your life.

You continue to drift towards sleep,

Soothed by the rain on Manhattan,

Feeling cleansed,

Feeling grateful for the comforts of this moment.

Feeling bliss,

Finding grace,

Finding peace,

Finding sleep.

It's time to dream away.

Good night.

Reviews

This story is like an old friend. I love listening as I fall asleep. Thank you, Michelle.

Thank you!🤗💜

Great story but didn ‘t get me to skeep. Wll try again.

Thank you, Michelle 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻Woke up at 6:45 am on Black Friday, one of my least favorite days in this country, saw that you had a new Cozy Laundrette story out, and decided to give myself a treat, stay in bed, and listen to the story, which I knew I now would hear in its totality. And what a treat it was, from a time already more than half a century ago. The width of the spectrum of your stories never ceases to amaze me…🙏🏻😴🙏🏻😘🙏🏻😴🙏🏻

The Launderette club is my favorite 🥰