Another Pioneer Friday and Bricker should keep up with the Changes. That’s why he’s now squinting.
It had to be a man who invented the iron. No woman would’ve said, let’s whack a cannon ball in half, throw it in the fireplace, then roll it over the shirts to flatten the wrinkles. Supposedly, they’re called sad irons from an old world word meaning: “heavy as hell and half of Texas.” But I’d guess the real reason for the name is how cruel it is to expect any woman to sling one of these across the cottons of eight family members.
I’ll admit to you, and only you, there are some things I miss about walking 2000 miles across the Oregon Trail. Nobody gave a diddle about wrinkled clothes. You could wad up a skirt and use it as a pillow under your head, then slip it on the next day, and look like a queen to all the other dust-covered, grease-faced travelers.
It was that Patricia Woolsey who ruined it all. The first get together we had after arriving in the valley, she showed up pretty and pressed like a shiny penny. That put me back on schedule:
- Monday: Wash Day
- Tuesday: Ironing Day
- Wednesday: Sewing Day
- Thursday: Work til you Drop Day
- Friday: Cleaning Dirt out of Dirt Farm Day
- Saturday: Bake til you drop Day
- Sunday: Pray Bricker Strikes Gold Day
Having no portable ironing board, I covered the table with blankets and a sheet, and heated up the iron, glad I’d purchased a Mrs. Potts with wooden handle. Leave it to a woman to figure out how to keep your hand from blistering like a sausage. Someday I’ll get one of those new box irons. The charcoal goes right inside to fire it up.
I’m embarrassed to say, even though I spit on the iron, I scorched the back of Bricker’s good shirt and a handkerchief. I guess I’m out of practice.
Usually, I save the water tinged with lavender for our eldest boy’s pillows. It keeps him from snoring. Knocks him plum out. I sprinkled a bit of scent on Bricker’s burnt shirt to cover the scorchiness, but he still goaded me about it.
If you see Bricker, just ignore his squint and black eye. He forgot to duck. but then….he didn’t know my new iron could fly so far.