Your Life & Mine: Ironing Day
My brother Bob and I loved ironing day. On ironing day, our mother filled the laundry basket with dampened clothes. She wrestled her old wooden ironing board from its place in the closet and plugged in her iron. Then as she pressed out the wrinkles in our clothes, she told us stories.
Knights and kings, giants and witches, fairies and unicorns shimmered in the space between her board and our chairs, drawn up close. Magic grew like beanstalks above the homey scent of cotton, hot and steaming under my mother’s iron.
My mother was a tiny woman, more than a foot short of my father’s six-foot-one- inch height. Little Patty Sawyer was dark of hair and eyes, her skin was as golden as a warm day. Exceedingly bright, exceedingly shy, in love with her husband, her children, music, books, language, her piano students, her faith, her God. I’m quite sure I’m a novelist because of the words my mother spun as she smoothed away life’s small problems with the joy of her stories.
Is your family blessed with storytellers? Tell us about them.
My mother is the little girl with the book (of course) at the back of the picture. The photo was taken in 1939 when she was in fifth grade.
Blessings!
Sue
What a sweet memories. Things we accep as children mold us into the adults we are.
Nice story Sue.
Those shaping circumstances are wonderful memories, Ginny. I think about post about your Mom making your birthday special and my heart glows.
Thank you, Wayne and Judy!!
What a special ironing day was for you! Your Mom was a very quiet loving lady. She raised a daughter who is also very loving and kind. I am blessed to have known both of you.
And we’re blessed to have known you, Cindy!!
Love this! It’s so typical of your mother. I’ll always hold dear memories of her, and now I have this to add to the collection! Hugs to you.
We both were very blessed in our mothers, Ruth!!
Loved this about your mom. She was special. Big influence on many lives -mine included ……💕
What a beautiful story, Sue! I wish I had known your mom… My Dad was always the storyteller (and often the jester). I can remember many tales of the adventures he’d had–and often, the trouble he’d gotten into–as a teenager, being spun out for my parents’ visiting friends. We kids were sent off to play, but we’d sneak back (out of sight but not out of earshot) to hear the exciting stories! Good memories, thanks for bringing them back with your story!
Thank you, Linda. I can say the same about your mother, who was a joyful influence in my life!
What fun memories, Cathie!! One of my great memories was a visit to Arkansas to various of my dad’s grandparents. I remember listening one evening after being put to bed where I could hear the adults in the living room. I was about 7 and my great grandmother was talking about her grandparents and great grandparents. I lay there thinking, “I have to remember this. I have to remember this!”