My Mother was a Southern Gal. I never received a lecture from her or an admonishment - veiled within gentle homilies were stories of her childhood and lessons she learned from life. One of these stories stuck like glue. It hasn't a thing to do with obtaining perfection or great wealth. It has every to do about how we conduct our daily lives.
Aggie, age 8, sat by the kitchen table and watched as Grandmother did the Tuesday ironing. Grandmother did Grandfather's shirt collar first. Sprinkling the material with water before pressing the heavy iron until the collar points were perfect and not a wrinkle remained. From the cuffs and sleeves to the back, then to the front with careful attention to ensure the material was dry. Satisfied the shirt was perfect, she folded it neatly and placed it into the bureau drawer in the bedroom.
She returned to the table, selected Grandfather's white handkerchief from the basket of ironing and dampened it. She replaced the cool iron with one hot from the wood stove, wiping it on a towel to make sure its surface was clean. She leaned into the iron to increase the pressure as she meticously pressed all four corners perfectly smooth. More water, more leaning her weight on the iron as she pressed into the material. She straightened the corners with her fingers and folded once, pressed and folded again into neat thirds, and pressed again until the material was completely dry.
"Grandmother, why are you taking as much time with the hankie as with the shirt?" Aggie asked.
"Well, Darling," she replied. "If I do one sloppy, I'll do them all sloppy."
Like I said, it stuck like glue.
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