My Grandmother was a laundress. Call her a washerwoman if you like. I say she was the backbone of our family.

For decades Clara took in people's grimy clothes, sheets and towels. They were washed, ironed, folded, then placed in bags to return to their proper owners. My Grandmother was famous for her work. Neighbors and customers were in amazement that even her discarded house rags were snow white and stain free. No one knew how she did it, and Clara wouldn't share her secret.

Often overlooked for her contributions to the family's construction business, it was laundry money that made payroll when the company could not. Her burden was heavy, and Clara was not fed much gratitude. No doubt, without her efforts, the con-struction business would have collapsed.

On days that went especially well, she would squirrel away a few dollars for herself.  I  never  knew  what

SIGNS ADVERTISING FOR BUSINESS ARE EVERYWHERE

TINY SOIS ARE THE BACK ROADS IN CHIANG MAI

Grandma did with that money, but I suspect she bought her grandchildren presents.

My mind goes to her often these days as I walk along the tiny sois (alleys) in Chiang Mai, Thailand, taking our laundry to a laundress. Fees here run from 20 to 35 baht (50-85 cents US) per kilo. As I walk to my particular washwoman's house, the paved soi narrows, twists, and finally turns into a dirt walking path. I pass three or four other households offering the same service on this soi.

Some of these women smile at me when I say hello, others turn their heads and pretend they don't see me. Washing is done by hand or by machine, but no one has a dryer. Children and dogs are everywhere and so is the laundry. It hangs on fences, tree limbs, rope lines and some lucky families have a metal support. Those are the wealthier ones.

Each time I come to her home, Pot and I are glad to see each  other. I  give  money  to have my laundry cleaned, ironed and folded, and with this payment she feeds her family.

Pot’s business is open every day rain or shine. Passing over puddles on some days, I kick little stones down the dried path on others. My small gift to her is that I never ask for same day service, and for this she is grateful. We always have smiles for each other as Pot takes my soiled clothing, weighs it, and then gives me both a price and a cardboard number. "Pope-ken-mai, Poo-nee" I say as I leave. ("See you to-morrow...")

No one seems to help Pot with the business, either. Her husband appears hopelessly lost when I come calling one afternoon,  number  in hand... The children

POT IS ALWAYS BUSY WORKING

TICKY CAFE IS OPEN DAILY

sit in front of the TV and call out so she knows I am there.

Neither fatigue nor distress show on her face. She gets to be at home with her children, and is proud to be productive in the family unit.

Women of varying ages raise their children through small businesses everywhere. One particularly lighthearted woman runs an internet shop down the street from my laundress. With three children including a brand new baby, Ticky runs the shop downstairs, while her family’s private rooms are upstairs. Practicing and learning English with customers or through online chat rooms, she also translates love letters from her Thai girlfriends to their (farang) boy-friends via email. On occasion, she will ask me to interpret something for her, and in this way I get to learn the English versions of unique Thai phrases.

Ticky is young, beautiful, meticulous about her appearance, warm, loyal, industrious -- and single. I originally found her because a friend told me she was open for business on Sundays when other internet shops often close. There is no day off when you are supporting your children.

Another woman we know runs a restaurant. Everyone thinks they can do this and do it well, but we have seen those folks come and go. They get fatigued, bored, don't manage their money, or their restaurant gets dirty and customer attention drops off. Ong has been there for years. Her prices are a bit higher than other places, but she puts fresh flowers on the tables, repaints her restaurant when needed, and makes consistently delicious foods. Ong, too, is single, and her son lives with his father in a town hundreds of miles away. She sends her boy packages via the bus because it is reliable and cheaper than the mail, and Ong sees him maybe twice a year.

Although her smile and laugh will light up the room, I see tedium and loneliness cross her brow on occasion. Something tells me there is more to her story than she wants us to know.

THIS SEAMSTRESS SETS UP HERE EVERY DAY