My World With Words

People have stopped ironing. I don’t know what to make of this, except I know I cannot be one of those people. Some things, yes. I have shirts that I can live without ironing if I take them out of the dryer quickly enough and smooth them out. I have other a few gauze shirts that I not only can’t iron (per instructions), I can’t even throw them in the dryer. And there are the shirts that truly are wrinkle-free.

Then there’s the clothing that must be ironed. My dad bought me a linen shirt a couple of years back that absolutely requires ironing. I have a linen and rayon shirt that supposedly is wrinkle-free, but you’d never know it. I hate ironing and wish I could fully embrace this trend of completely leaving it alone, but I can’t.

It’s another sign of being part of an older generation. I’m trying to avoid saying anything about how sloppy clothes look when they should be pressed but are not, because I fear that would make sound like an old lady.

Instead, I think about some of the things I do that an older generation would find appalling. For example, I wear jeans everywhere. I do own a pair of dress pants, but they’re seriously outdated, and I’m not even sure they fit. So when I say I wear jeans everywhere, I mean everywhere. Including church.

My uncle Bob died a couple of weeks ago. My cousin assured me their church is pretty casual, but I wasn’t counting on it being casual enough where wearing jeans to a funeral would be acceptable. I wouldn’t even do that at my own church. So tomorrow I’m off to buy a new pair of pants and an appropriate shirt.

I’m making sure both are wrinkle-free. Time to join the new generation.

Today, as you probably know, is the twenty-five year anniversary of 9/11. Like most of you, I remember exactly where I was when I first learned about what was happening. Sitting on my bed with the yellow floral comforter, watching the Today show. The news before the planes struck was pretty dull and I almost turned the TV off, when I heard Katie Couric give the first indication something bad had happened.

Minutes later, when the second plane struck, I picked up the phone and called my brother, who, with his family, lives in Manhattan and had a view of the twin towers out of the bedroom windows. I asked him if he was watching the news, and he said no. I told him to look out the window and turn on the news. At that point I heard my sister-in-law cry out–she saw what was happening. Knowing they were okay, I hung up and continued watching the news. I had an appointment that day to get my nails done, but I canceled it.

In the aftermath, weeks after the planes struck, I remember my sister-in-law saying it smelled like death outside. The smell just clung to you.

The nation pulled together after that. Yes, there was controversy, and it continues. But we had been attacked. Today, we are severely divided, but we come together to remember a day we can’t forget, a day that we pray will never be repeated. We remember the brave men and women of Flight 93 who fought back. We remember those who caught an earlier flight to get home to their loved ones,, and in doing so, lost their lives. We remember…we remember.

I pulled the comforter off of my bed to wash it, only to discover that both cats love sleeping on it. Right now it’s all folded up at the foot of the bed, waiting to go to the laundromat. Here’s Mimi taking a nap on it. Hopefully they aren’t too disappointed when it disappears to be washed, then shows up again on the full length of the bed. BTW, this is the comforter I sleep with, not the decorative one.

Image Credits: Cesar Cat © Belinda O; Paws in Heart © Bigstock Photos; Sleeping Kitty illustration © Ty–stock.adobe.com