Just Ironing

My vintage fashion show, The Stories My Clothing Can Tell, is catching on. I'll be doing it this Saturday and Sunday at Old Florida Days in Naples.

This is one of my funnest of programs, especially if my models - always different - have the moxie to ham it up for the audience. But it's also one of my most labor intensive of programs.

I've racked my brain for every magical word I've ever chanced across. Without the least success, I've wearied each and every facial muscle attempting to coax a wiggle from my nose.

These gowns simply refuse to iron themselves.

Luckily, I don't find ironing to be the abhorrent task that some do. You might think me bee-headed, but I love my iron. It's big and heavy and glides along in a fashion that can only be described as graceful. Pressing the steam button makes a warm and fuzzy "Pshhhsssssssss" that I find oddly pleasing. The wrinkles want to vanish.

Good thing since I can never get to the dryer in a timely fashion. 

So once I'm on gown #3, ironing becomes something of a meditation. By gown #5 the troubles of the world are held at bay.

The following words came to me yesterday at gown #6:

Safe in knowing this is best
You fold your thoughts
   with perfectly quiet creases,
Tucking them neat and still
In an attic drawer
At the end of the stairs
   I rarely climb.
But me?
Mine spill noisy and wrinkled
   (forever a tussle)
From an open box
Recklessly perched upon a low shelf.
Always in easy reach.
But maybe not so safe.
I've lately been tripping over them.
And there you are to catch me.
   On your way up the stairs.

My mama walked in the door at dress #8.

"Honey, why are you ironing those big dresses on that little ironing board?"

Talk about an "aha" moment. 

Our home had come with an ironing board that falls out from the wall - most convenient from a storage perspective. But at only half the size of your run of the mill ironing board, I guess it's hardly practical when ironing an Edwardian wedding gown.

Lofty with meditation, poetry, and my grand ol iron, it just never occurred to me to make a Target run.

I might indeed be slightly bee-headed on occasion. But I like to think those moments are short lived. I was off to Target in a heartbeat.

What would I do without you Mama.


The Stories My Clothing Can Tell was the spring fund raiser for the Friends of the Mound House. If you'd like to see a number of the gowns as well as some of the Fort Myers Beach beauties who wore them so well, you can visit: www.laurienienhaus.com/fashionpage.htm