Saturday … dress whites
February 28, 2009 § 17 Comments
Because it was “taught” to me (by my Mom), I find ironing easy, organized, peaceful and fulfilling in some inner domestic way that other household to-do’s are not (i.e., cleaning bathrooms and dusting: two definite non-faves).
There would be a whole heck of a lot less ironing around here if we went beyond cotton AND if I had a clothesline but clotheslines are disallowed by the book of neighborhood covenants. (Really? What does the neighborhood think of the prayer flags we’ve strung around the back wall of pool fence? hmmmm??? )
I love the smell of ironing, the steam and lavender water, the slight waft of Tide (which I pretend is the tide; it’s an ocean thing – what do you expect of a Pisces, especially a land-locked Pisces?)
Snarl knows how to iron. He would call it “survival ironing.” He never wanted to wait for me to do it once a week, and he’s a major natural fiber guy yet with a certain “crispness” so he learned. Nory will pick up the iron, too, if the shirt or sweater does not respond to a rigorous smoothing straight from the dryer.
But HM? He was banned, not just from ironing but from the laundry room overall. His intentions are good, pure, in fact. His success rate in there is nil. Naught. Nothing. Nada. He put powdered detergent in the dryer once, confusing the two, then proceeded to bake the dirty clothes for 40 minutes on high heat. Lovely. He mixed a “new” red item with the “whites” and then refused to wear the pink-tinged results. (completely understandable.) He burned a hole in one of his own dress shirts. That’s when he “retired.” We didn’t have to encourage him. We applied the “ban” nevertheless, in case he would be tempted hence.
He has not been.
No one loves a clean fresh-smelling crisp shirt better than HM.
The ones in the photo, however, are mine, longing for the shot of lavender water and the steamy press.
Book recommendations …
CONFESSIONS OF A SHOPAHOLIC – Sophie Kinsella
No, I’m likely not going to the movie. But I did read the book. Nory gave it to me. She gives me the girl-in-NYC-publishing-world novels because … I like them. As Anno mentioned several entries ago, they’re rather like the sorbet intermezzo between the serious dishes, the stuff that comes between Joyce and Pynchon, between Morrison and Franzen. So, anyway, what have we here in this little book? Enough of a thread of a story to kick off a whole series: you will see many “shopaholic” books which is a smart idea, all based on mad shopper Becky Bloomwoord, a Londoner, who does fall in love with and get a very down to earth successful (read that: wealthy) guy. I see him as patient and forgiving because I saw very little in her character other than her tragic flaw: shopping. Written in Feb 2001, it was before the globe was feeling any eco pinch, so it may seem outlandish (or, even more ficitonal?) now.
But it’s a book. Pure fiction. It’s cute. The whole thing is cute and doesn’t hurt anyone. Read it or not. You’re not missing anything either way.
THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES – Hans Christian Anderson
An emperor is swindled by two tailors who tell him that anyone who doesn’t see the materials they’re using is stupid or foolish. Not appear either, the Emperor steps out, fully (un) dressed. No one says anything ’til a young boy in the crowd cries out that the emperor is wearing nothing. More a political comment than a fashion skewer. Fashion just might somehow be considered to be more pure.