Ironing Handkerchiefs



minnie and donna0001

Remembering my mother

It is 1977 and I fold a load of laundry at the kitchen table. The noonday sun suffuses the large airy room and my mood with warm comfort and I reminisce:

It is 1972 and I am folding laundry in my bedroom. The radio is on and a frantic voice says “George Wallace has been shot.” My baser self thinks, “Good,” but my kind side, the one I inherited from my mother, thinks about his wife and children. Does he have parents? I am a mother and daughter, primed to sidestep politics and feel the human side of a story.

I take my husband’s shirts to the ironing board, out of the sun’s reach, and think of the Tillie Olsen story that begins with a woman ironing and musing. I am that woman, musing about my mother sweating over the ironing board in our dark, cramped apartment, teaching me to iron handkerchiefs.

I have a PhD in ironing handkerchiefs.

 

Share

Leave a comment


Name*

Email(will not be published)*

Website

Your comment*

Submit Comment

Copyright © 2012 by Donna Brookman Kaulkin. All rights reserved. Web site built by Cantus Firmus Web Solutions