{#npm’17: still life with linens}

Not having been raised in a family that really “did” Easter (the fourth Thursday in November being the only demonstrably non-pagan holiday prompted our family’s all-out celebration of it, though believing gratitude to be a directive from on high helped, as well firmly believing gratitude has nothing whatsoever to do with America, its fabled friendships with the disenfranchised people it later murdered wholesale, nor with those whose extreme piety created odd sartorial choices that excluded jewelry, but included ginormous buckles), my Sunday was spent listening to Berlioz’s Te Deum and ironing table linens. A very hot iron, flattening wrinkles, a hiss of the spray bottle, the drum of rain against the skylight – and briefly, a sense of order, of peace. All very fleeting and imaginary, yes. But, for a moment, all was right in the world.

& the crooked made straight

control from chaos
order, in a puff of steam
imposed perfection

5 Replies to “{#npm’17: still life with linens}”

  1. We are soul sisters because I iron for relaxation (and to work out anger). I have a very old, very heavy iron that feels wonderful in my hand. I find ironing almost meditative.

    I love your notion of “imposed perfection.”

  2. Yes, even a semblance of momentary order is calming and rewarding. I remember my mother had a big bag of sprayed table linens and scarves all bunched up she kept in a bag until it was time to iron them.

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