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May 2, 2008

Ironing Boards

When two favorite aunts moved from their homes back in the '90's I inherited their ironing boards; sturdy, dependable and well-padded (one of the secrets, I learned, for a good press). Last week I dealt with my mother's ironing situation: Her board didn't stay in the highest position and coupled with her impaired balance and lack of strength it was no longer a good fit. I went shopping for a solution and settled on an over-the-door model. Though shorter than a standard board it can easily by collapsed or extended from whichever door it is hanging from. Since it is anchored in place it seemed to be a better match for her. I carried the old blue board down to the trash room in her apartment.

End of story? Not really. That old ironing board began to haunt me. Images of all the people who had utilized it, including my precious Norwegian babysitter Onie who taught me to hand sew as soon as I could hold a needle, began playing on the screen in my mind. "You've got Lu and Irene's boards," the Voice reminded me. "It would be a shame not to have the one that belonged to your own mother."

My big sister would have a fit if she knew what I contemplated and I really tried to let it go. In the end I drove over to Mom's apartment in a race against her garbage collector, went straight to the trash room and rescued her ironing board. My handy husband is going to look at it and see if he can fix the highest position glitch. For now it leans against a wall on an inside back porch, safe and secure. I have found peace in its salvation and the knowledge that yes, I am emotionally attached to an ironing board.

Happy stitching (and ironing)!

Maggy