Southern Girl Rule #63: An Iron is Essential.

 

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Ironing pillowcases for the guest room

I have a love-hate relationship with my iron.  Okay, it’s mostly a hate relationship, I find clothing in particular difficult to iron (which is why I have a steamer for those), not sure if it has to do with being a leftie or my lack of patience.  I do enjoy the zen of ironing a linen napkin or tea towel, but those items are about the only ones I feel confident tackling.

So why am I ironing pillowcases? My guest room will soon be occupied, and while I would clean and iron for any guest, my mama and daddy are expected in tomorrow. Hence the effort with the pillowcases. It might be a generational thing, but mama always seems to have a stack of ironing. Me on the other hand, if I can get it out of the dryer fast enough and hung, that’s good enough for me.

A few wrinkles have never bothered me, but I clearly remember my mother’s dismay if I tried to leave the house for school in something that needed a little ironing. I still will hear her voice when I’m getting dressed. I think,  Is this passable or does it need ironing? I suppose it has saved me from going about town like a bag lady. I have often chosen what to wear based on what doesn’t need ironing.

You would think I would invest in clothing made from synthetics that don’t require ironing, but I have an affinity for natural fibers, particularly cotton and linen, the two types of cloth that require the most ironing. Ironic I know.

As I worked on the pillowcases, I realized it’s not about the wrinkles, but did I put in the effort, did I represent myself and my family in the best possible light.? The answer should be yes. Ironing is a way to show you care enough to make the effort. Even if your results are less than professional (Don’t look too closely at my work).

So despite it being up there with vacuuming, my least favorite chore, I will press on, pun intended!

 

Shared Blood, Shared Love

 

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My cousin Susan and I somewhere off the coast of Maine Early 1970’s.

I have five cousins, three on my mother’s side and two on my father’s side. But only one close to my age. My cousin Susan is a little over two years older than I am, the rest are many years older or many years younger. As an only child, I was fascinated by the fact she had siblings. She is the closest to a sibling I will ever have.

Growing up in a military family,  we only saw each other every few summers and several Christmases but the time together is vivid in my memory. I worshiped her as older, I was jealous of her for living way closer to our grandparents and, I loved those magical times when it was the two of us connected and conspiratorial.

One Christmas, we convinced out Papa to let us cut down a small tree from his property and put it in the bedroom we were sharing. We decorated it and tried to convince everyone we should get up at five a.m for Christmas morning.

There were summers searching for sea glass in the coves of small islands off the coast of Maine. Trips to the beach and lots of boating. There was the two of us in our Laura Ashley dresses for our grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary.

We did not always see eye to eye, I am sure sometimes I came off as the pesky younger cousin to entertain when she would rather be with her friends, like in middle school and high school. Then there was that time I got frustrated following her lead in our play and I dropped the piano key covers down on her hands. I instantly regretted it and I think it was the only time I did something mean-spirited towards someone, I imagine much like a sibling. That one moment still flashes in my mind whenever I want to lash out at someone in anger and it keeps me from acting.

As we have led our adult lives living in different states, our lives have been more apart than together, but this summer we made the effort to reconnect. For me, it was a renewal of that bond we have through blood and our shared love of water. We had this reunion at her beach house in Nags Head.

I was reminded of how little family I have and how I need to take more care to nurture those bonds. I have always lived far from family, so it seems natural, but as we age and especially as we see our parent’s age, we need each other more than we used to. After all, family shares a narrative unique to them.  Simply put she is truly the only one in our generation who knows our story.

I hope we will continue to make the effort to see each other more often. We both have property near beaches and there are plenty of them between us. Salt water and blood flow through us and our shared history. That with love will be the tie that binds.

 

 

Marriage and Monograms

 

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Monogram displayed at my friend, Vicki’s wedding.

In The Soul Believes It, the third book in my lowcountry home series, I had the joyful task of planning a wedding for one of my characters. The book will be out this Summer and I hope you enjoy wedding storyline as much as I enjoyed writing it. Fortunately, I have been a guest at several beautiful weddings in the past few months and one of them was at Alhambra Hall, the setting for my fictional reception.

The picture above was from that wedding. I loved how they placed the new monogram for the bride and groom as a couple on the mantle. I was even inspired to have my character’s new last name, to begin with, an M. I love how M’s scroll and I liked the idea that my character’s maiden last name was W, so it was a flip, a visual representation of what women do when they take their husband’s name.

Now don’t get the wrong idea, I’m a traditionalist. I’m not fond of the hyphenated name or the wife keeping her maiden name, especially if children follow, it just gets confusing to me. I’m also of the school of thought that to each his, or in this case her own, I have no problem with other women choosing any option.

I used to wish I could marry someone with a last name that began with G, simply because I liked the idea my initials could be JAG, perfect reason to get the car, right?

When I monogram things with just one letter, I waffle between J, because that is forever, or A because that is for family. It is one of the only times I’m jealous of men, they never have to change their initials, their identity is set at birth.

On the bright side, new brides can embrace a new monogram. There is silver, glassware, towels, purses, linens, sandals, you name it, it probably can be monogrammed. What a delightful way to embrace your new identity.

 

 

Brand-new Heirloom

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Keeping Box handcrafted by my Daddy and given for Christmas 2015

The title of this blog post at first glance might be considered an oxymoron, but I urge you to ponder the idea that something might earn the status heirloom if it meets certain criteria.

My daddy has been a woodworker from as long as I can remember.  No matter where we lived he managed to find a place for a workshop and always seemed to have a project in the works.  When I was a young girl he built a Swiss chalet dollhouse for me and I remember sitting and watching, the smell of fresh sawdust swirling around. To this day that warm woodsy smell brings back happy memories of my childhood and my daddy.

In recent years when I visit my parents, I often hear the power saws and occasional banging travelling up through the floor of the family room from his meticulously kept basement workshop.  One Christmas I asked for and received a jigsaw and he supervised my building of a dog bowl holder, complete with bone shaped handles I cut out on the side pieces.  He also taught me how to use a compound miter saw and when I got one of my own, I tackled window trim and crown molding for my home. I have been blessed with a skilled teacher.

However when my mother and I were presented with similarly wrapped packages this past Christmas, I had no idea I was unwrapping a handcrafted keeping box complete with a removable tray and a divided storage section underneath.  Both the tray and the drawer at the bottom of the box are felt lined.  Mama’s was slightly bigger, but she has way more jewelry than I do.  I admired the wood, the dovetailed joints and the paneled lid.  I was in awe of the time and thought that went into the building.  Neither my mother or I had requested a keeping box, he thought about us and what we might appreciate.

So what would the criteria be to make something an instant heirloom?  I would suggest the top of that list would be handcrafted.  Other factors are if the piece in question is made with care and consideration for the recipient.  Is it something that can be handed down with the story of who made it?  Is it something to treasure?

This keeping box meets all that criteria in my opinion. It is now on the short list of what must be taken in a hurricane evacuation.  I chose to put the jewelry pieces I use most in it so that I would use it on a daily basis.  That way I appreciate my daddy each day and am reminded of the love he has for me.