When I was in Tennessee a few weeks ago I spent an inordinate amount of time ironing. Hours and hours. It was the sort of job that needed to be done by someone who had nothing better to do. Someone like me.
This week has been good but so unsettling. The World at Large feels like it's creeping closer to the teeny tiny one I've got going in my little house. I've spent the week cleaning out, rearranging, fussing, and sputtering and getting nearly nothing done. So. Today I set out to iron. Something mindless and calming. Something that keeps me engaged but working. Something I'm REALLY BAD AT.
Oh my. Really. Maybe it's my iron? No. Just me. Ridiculous really. I couldn't tell until I started taking pictures of things to upload to flickr. Those poor wrinkly people in Tennessee. Seriously. Good thing it was mostly tablecloths and slipcovers, because Lord Have Mercy, I stink.
Anyway. Aprons. I had a couple in college, but then hit the mother lode when I was cleaning out my Grandma's house. I'm sure they were gifts given to her. My Nana and Papa lived in Africa for 35 years and I can't imagine her sweeping out her concrete and dirt floor wearing something starched and lacy. But I could be wrong. Some were found thrifting or at estate sales, and I sometimes get them as gifts-- now that my family knows how much I like them. I wait tables and wash dishes on the weekends and so some of them have seen better days in my own house.
Tomorrow night we're having dinner for some of our peeps-- they would fall over laughing if they knew I had actually pressed out their napkins. Ah well... it made me feel better.
