love – Home's Cool!

That Man! And His Incredible Gift!

Posted on June 4, 2016July 2, 2016 by Katharine

I’ve written about this table before, twice. Here. And here. You just about need to read these, to prime the pump, so the rest will make tons more sense to you.

Otherwise, you’ll think I’m some kind of doddering old nut.

So, go ahead and read. This’ll still all be here when you get back. And I’ve arranged the links to open in new windows, so you won’t lose this page. You’re welcome.

Now, if you’ve read, or if you remember the story,

Let me tell you Chapter Three

Those of you who have hung with me for years may think you are tired of hearing about “the table”, but the story simply has gotten WAY better.

Basically, there is a table in my life that has not much monetary value, but lotsa nostalgia going for it. I’m not immune to nostalgia at all, but this thing rang all my bells and has humbled me to no end.

If it is possible to be in love with a table, then I was.

First, it is important to realize when I thought the table was destroyed, it was because it was old and I could not remember having it for years and years. Then, one day I wrote about it and later I discovered my son had it at his house. Wow. You cannot imagine my happiness.

When we were helping them move, it was so close to totally rotten we debated photographing it and giving it a funeral.

I voted a big “NO” and I won. Eventually the table came back to be mine, but finally in pieces. It lived, along with all its pieces, in our shop, for several years.

Well the other day, my newly-retired husband asked me if I wanted to see what he’d been doing all day, and you guessed it:

The table has been resurrected:

Sweet new old table

You can imagine my pleasure (but only if you’ve read the previous stories!) and the poor, simple table has brought tears to my eyes, one more time, and here it is, the way I saw it when I first learned it had survived surgery.

I know it doesn’t look like much, but it was a sight to behold, for me.

Old table made new Now, here it is, newly repainted and pressed into service, again, making everything around it look in need of a Spring spruce-up.

Isn’t it like that with us? Our Father created us, and loves when our parents dedicate us to Him, and when we love him back and serve Him. But sometimes we get worn out, or worse yet, we get away from Him. Then He finds us and fixes us.

So this love gift has been given to me thrice. What a thing to make such a deal about, but really, it’s the love that has overwhelmed me.

Some days the blessings just come. Ever had a day like that?

Blessings of Habit, Homemaking, Inspiring, Womanhood

Can I Teach You to Love Ironing?

Posted on October 26, 2015May 27, 2017 by Katharine

learn to love ironing

Maybe I can; I surely hope I can . . . .

A lot depends upon where your heart is.

Ironing is an art.

I mean, we take the raw material and turn it into a sort of sculpture, don’t we? And it is most beautiful when the shirt is made right, in the first place, so the ironing chore is a joy for the one who irons: The plaids fall naturally into the pleats, the seams fold in the right direction, and the button placket is flat and cooperative.

In that way, ironing is like two artists who’ve worked together to send someone out into the world looking finely sculpted.

I’ll tell you, there is something about a man with a fresh haircut, who has groomed his face, and possesses the wealth of freshly ironed shirts to choose from in his closet, that makes him stand out, not only to his employer, but also to me.

I love giving that to my man. And that is the basis of my love for ironing.

The entire foundation for this love lies in the finished product.

I love looking at the shirts all lined up in the closet, ready to indulge in.
I love slipping into a smooth and lovely fresh-ironed shirt.
I love the way I look in the clothing that must be ironed.
I love feeling rich, as I do wearing an ironed shirt.
I love that my husband goes to work looking totally sharp every day.
I love knowing how to iron, and knowing not everyone does know how.

Ironing is probably very much an elitist, self-gratifying thing with me.

After all, I also love when building a tall lasagna that tastes magnificent because we grew the tomatoes, the onions, and even the eggs for making the pasta.

It’s a sort of self-satisfaction with the doing of it, I suppose. However, it also is totally a self-indulgence, quite a bit like rushing to be the first one to dig into the whipped cream carton…

Does that help?

How did I become so nutty?

It all began with my mother. I can remember watching her iron for hours on end, to make some spare cash for our family. It was something she could do and still be available for her children.

I remember she ironed for a woman who explained in an embarrassed way that she could not do ironing herself, due to arthritis in her hands, which were all gnarly with the devastation. This woman’s husband played an instrument in a dance band in the early 60’s. His white shirts had to be starched and ironed to a specific degree of perfection.

Watching that project taught me a lot about the right and wrong ways to perform with iron in hand.

I remember she also ironed for a woman who worked outside the home as a nurse. Think white uniform dresses, again totally starched and totally in need of perfection in ironing skills.

My mom was exceptionally skilled at the job, and loved knowing how, teaching me how, and devising new ways to improve.

(She tried re-inventing distilled water for her steam iron, by melting down frost from the refrigerator. Didn’t turn out too well, since the clothing then smelled like fish and bell peppers.)

Oh, it helps to know how.

One factor that adds to the pleasure is adding a bit of cooked starch to the last rinse water, and then hanging the shirts to dry.

After that, spritzing with water to iron makes the fabric stay glossy and in place, and makes the work last until you are ready to waste it on yourself.

As I said it is a self-indulgence thing.

And here is the boiled starch recipe: 1/2 cup corn starch stirred into 2 cups of water, then that mixture stirred into 2 quarts of boiling water. It thickens, some, as you stir, and becomes semi-transparent. Add this hot little mess to a half-washer-load of rinse water and then add all the clothing you want to starch, up to about six shirts or so. Agitate and spin on the gentle spin cycle, which leaves a bit more of the liquid in the fabric.

Hang this clothing indoors to dry.

That is the secret, and it is worth it, to me. This method keeps spray starch off the walls, floor, ironing board, iron, and everything else. It’s how we who really iron get that really good-looking shirt.

More about hanging clothing to dry, here.

Starching also adds to the longevity of any article of clothing, adding durability and protecting from body oils. It is truly worth every moment of the time it takes.

One small note before you reject every bit of this post: Try starching and ironing your favorite piece made of rayon.

You will be forever hooked.

Mmm.

Believe it or not!, Food, Husbands

In Honor of the Peanut Butter Thing…

Posted on January 24, 2015February 3, 2015 by Katharine

Today is National Peanut Butter Day?

So they say.

Well I decided to share with you my connection to the lowly peanut, and the butter we make from it.

Forty-five years ago (tomorrow!) I acquired a wonderful, brand new husband. Never looked back. However, it wasn’t long before we were sharing a tad of morning sickness and he had the cure!

It was not something I would have chosen to swallow that morning, not at all. It sounded gross.

But his enthusiasm (plus the fact that he could stand up without fainting and I could not) won the day.

I found myself eyeball to eyeball with a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup and the most amazing combination of foods I could ever imagine in a sandwich.

It was not even a good color combination, and the aromas from it were less than what a newly prego lady would want.

However, it all was served to me while I was still in bed, and with such youthful exuberance, I had to smile to myself at the awesome idea of this young man serving me, his young bride, breakfast in bed with such a hopeful expression, no matter WHAT the menu.

So I sipped on the soup, for starters. (Soup is supposed to be the first course, anyway, I remembered from home ec class.) The soup was fine. He actually knew how to open a can of soup, dilute it properly, and warm it without boiling it over; a factoid worth mental note, indeed.

And he was truly caring and attentive, I also noted, with pleasure.

But the sandwich!

It was time. I had to take at least one bite. How on earth could anyone be so callous as to ignore any part of this loving offering, right?

So I took a bite. I chewed.

The unbelievable flavor combination of white bread, peanut butter, and dill pickle awakened my taste buds to a new world.

And I’ve never looked back

Happy 45th, a day early, Sweetheart! ❤

Peanut Butter and Dill Pickle Sandwich — Counter-top breakfasting at its best!