Suddenly the realization came to me that I am now in the age group of that generation! Oh my! When did that happen?? How did I not notice it happening? I don't feel that old, though if completely honest I must admit that there are times that I do feel that old!
Today I was ironing linen tablecloths, most of which were from the generations before me, some belonging to my grandmother who if still here would be 98, others that had been my mothers and she would be 72 if she was still with us. As I stood there with my electric steam iron and my stack of tablecloths it occured to me I am the only person I know that actually uses tablecloths. I looked at the handwork of the embroidery of most of them, some doen by my grandmother, some done by my mother, and some done partly by my mother prior to her death, and then finished for me after her death,by my aunt ( her sister). The hours, the care, the creativity in choosing thread colors to create not only a tablecloth to make my table look pretty and at the same time protect it, I saw a work of art in each tablecloth, an expression of personalities, a pride in their work, and an heirloom of generations now gone. Yet everytime I put one of those tablecloths on my table a piece of each of them is right here with me.
As I stood n my dining room ironing my daughter in law to be was making lunch in the kitchen, and I shared with her the concept of linen tablecloths. I have some that are "old" store bought linen tablecloths used on the tables of my youth. Even all these years later the linen of these is so much thicker, so much stronger than the things created today. The colors are as vibrant now as they were 40 and 45 years previous. I was telling this young girl how much easier ironing is today over the ironing I watched the generations before me do. I told her they had a day of the week, or month that was dedicated to the chore of ironing, as it truly was a tedious chore that took quite a long time. There were no fancy steam irons, they used what we now call dry irons, and they had a glass bottle with a top that was similar in concept to a salt shaker. They filled this with water and they sprinkled the water on the clothes. Very often they would roll up the clothes, unrolling each as it became that items turn to be ironed. In the cold winter ironing would not only warm the house but also created humidity in the dry air of the winter. Back then everything was ironed, pillowcases, shirts, pants, kitchen towels, napkins, ( and yes I admit I still use linen napkins everyday myself, and yes even some of those were previously used in my childhood as well), tablecloths,dresser scarves ( okay I admit it I use them also) and hankies. Back when I was growing up not only did men carry hankerchiefs in their pants pockets, but ladies and girls carried hankies in their purse. Of course they were called pocketbooks not purses at that stage of my generation. I told her how I can't recall ever having paper towels or paper napkins as a young girl.
Ironing today brought back to my mind numerous stories I have shared with my children about my youth, and also the numerous stories I haven't, as they don't seem that interested. I got to remembering the stories my own mother shared with me of her childhood, and the stories my grnadparents shared of their own childhoods. As I reflected on the years of memories stored in my own personal memory bank treasure chest, it became even more clear how each generations memories are and will continue to be so different from the next ones.
My children will recall that their mom had dresser scarves, that she used linen napkins, and that each of her tablecloths have some sort of history , but they will also be part of the disposable world of paper towels, kleenex tissues, and no dish towels, seriously do people still dry dishes??
As I continued my ironing I was reminded of how the stories my grandparents shared of their past, the stories my mom told of her being a little girl, these were all stories of the past, their past. Yet in reality the history of their lives is also part of my past. I was molded by these stories, molded by the people living the lives that created these memories. I recall being a girl and being totally attentive to the stories of the "older" generations. the old ladies and the old men who recollected their stories by telling stories to me that began with back when I was........ Many of these were elderly people in our family, but not all. Some were simply elederly people whose paths crossed with my own, neighbors, friends grandparents, someone in a check out line at the grocery store or at a park watching their great grandchildren play as I watched my own children. I loved those stories, I learned a wealth of useful knowledge from those stories. The only lesson that seemed to escape me until today was that I would one day be telling the stories of an old woman and days long gone by. Today, while ironing the wrinkles out of pieces of my past, my moms past, my grandmothers past, it became clear and wrinkle free that I am now the old lady telling stories of my youth, hopeful perhaps that some will be heard and remembered, to be shared in the future with new generations that will be linked through history to my past as they create their own.
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