Nothing More Comforting

I have a love affair with jeans.......all colors.......but mostly I am attracted to the blue variety.  Today, it occurred to me that maybe I might be buying too many when I noticed that I had 17 pair of blue jeans.  Actually, I didn't notice, I counted them.  Yep, 17 pairs of blues.  That's not counting the 7 black pair, nor the gray pair, nor the two tan pair, nor the chocolate brown ones, nor the green ones, nor the 3 pairs of whites, nor the new red pair I bought last month, which are really, really cute.   I love my comfortable jeans. 

There are three different sizes represented amongst all these jeans which goes to show you that I might be a little spastic with my weight.  The thing is I can squeeze into all of them........if I lay prone on the floor and tug and bounce and tug and bounce, tug and bounce.  Some are boot cut, some are straight leg, and some are skinny jeans.  Some set below the waist, some set at the waist, but none are hip huggers (remember the 60s, girls?).  Some are short to wear with my flats and some are long to wear with heels, some to wear tucked into boots, some to wear with boots hidden.  There is even a pair that is labeled "curvy fit".  And, honey, you thought I was just fat.  Nope, I am curvy.  Vast distinction.  (But girls, these curvy fit are really comfortable and they are curvy...dare I say sexy?  OK, I know full well my age, and I do not in any way consider myself sexy.  I just said that to see if you are paying attention.)

I was ironing a few of my favorites (also known as the ones that fit) this afternoon - hence the desire to count them.  You know how I love to iron, the satisfaction it gives me.....all that steam bursting forth......giving lots of moisture to release the wrinkles.  Far cry from the way mom used to iron.  Back in those days, your grandma would dip her fingers in a bowl of water and sling water onto the clothes (most were starched).   She would then bundle each item up tightly and place it in the basket.  Eventually, the clothes would be evenly moistened and ready to iron.  I think the satisfaction I receive from ironing stems from watching the wrinkles transform into something resembling cardboard.  Those that remember starch will know what I am talking about.

Note:  Kids, inside the hot water closet is an old iron that belonged to your dad's family, several generations back.  That iron was heated by placing on the wood stove.  How long to you think it would take to do the weekly ironing way back when?  They probably had a system, ironing the heaviest garment first, and as the ironed cooled, iron the more delicate.  Grandma Dawkins told me they would have a couple of irons, one on the stove heating while using the other. 

Memory:  On cold winter's nights when I stayed the night with my grandma Dawkins, she would heat one of her old irons on the stove and then wrap it in a towel.  She would place it under the covers at the foot of the bed to warm my feet.  Me in my flannel night gown, my feet entwined with grandma's seeking that warm towel, listening to one of grandma's favorite stories...nothing more comforting.

I love you!