Creases

Creases in the wrong place

Sunday mornings are usually quiet in our house. I try to be quiet because Cindy likes to sleep late. 98% of the time she has been out late Saturday night playing cards with troops, and chooses to sleep in the family room so as not to wake me up. I try to return that favor by watching TV or doing other quiet things upstairs, venturing down only to refill my coffee cup. And so it was this morning.

On most Sunday mornings I pop in a DVD and watch an episode of Battlestar Galactica, the newer version. And after that CBS’s Sunday Morning comes on. By the time that show is over Cindy is usually awake.

This morning was a little different. I woke up earlier, watched not only the episode but also the version with the podcast commentary. And still I had an hour to kill before Sunday Morning. So I decided to do some ironing.

No matter the garment, its permanent press attributes are never permanent. So every six or seven months I will have accumulated enough clothes that it is worth setting aside time to iron. I ironed half a dozen shirts this morning. I have a lot of shirts in my closet. I should probably iron more often because each time I take a hot iron to a garment, it is like I’m teaching myself all over again.

I consider it a victory if, after I’ve ironed a shirt, it doesn’t look like I’ve slept in it. We take our victories where we can. Observe the picture at the beginning of this post. I can’t iron a shirt, whether long or short-sleeved, without adding creases to the sleeves. I could iron for hours on one shirt, and never end with a uncreased shirt sleeve. I’ve given up trying.

I realized that people can tell that I’ve at least made the effort. So, I don’t fret over a few unwanted creases. I give up sooner than I used to. People perceive that I tried, and perception is the same as reality.

That’s how I spent this Sunday morning.

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