I did some sewing a week or so ago. I do not have a “sewing” room. I set up my sewing machine in the living room, in front of the TV.  

Crushing the misnomer about me and multi tasking. Yes, I can. Unless there are cookies, then I can only concentrate on the cookie at hand. 

But I can sew and watch television at the same time. So I sew in my living room. Anyone who sews also knows that you need an ironing board and iron set up as you sew.

Sew and press seams open, sew and press seams open, boring, hence ironing bored. Sewing machine-ironing board, the two go hand in hand. Kind of like me and any cookie. Moving on.

I get girly giddy when I set up my sewing stuff. Even the ironing board. My ironing board is from the 60’s.

Yes the 1960’s. It was thrown out by a couple of girls that lived in an apartment next to my other half when he and a few of his friends lived in Southern California as they attended Northrup Institute of Technology to become airframe and power plant (A&P) mechanics. 

The girls were moving away and set the board out on the curb and he picked it up and today it still unfolds, albeit a bit rickety, and I iron away on it. I tell you that whole story because I think it is kinda cool. 

The story of my ironing board. I want to add that when he picked it up so long ago I was still a tiny baby. He was much older. Just wanted to make that clear.

I sewed all that I had to sew and put the machine away. That was last week. I haven’t though folded up and put away the ironing board.  

It is usually kept behind the door in a spare bedroom and the iron goes in a cabinet above the dryer. When I need to iron it’s usually set up in the kitchen to iron stuff as they come out of the dryer and then it is taken down as soon as I am done.

That didn’t happen this time.  Now I am wondering why. I know, I know. I need to get out more right? But. Yes a wrinkled “but.” Follow this logic. If you dare.

I have a friend who loves to iron. She always looks well put together and irons nearly everything she wears. 

I, on the other side of the board, have maybe six things that need to be ironed after they come out of the dryer. It just so happens that out of those six, three are summer and three are winter things. 

They are the things I take whenever I travel. Not much of a clothing fashionista here. Recently I have had a plate full of short travels and those three winter things have been called upon more than usual. 

So to make life easier I told myself it was okay to leave the ironing board set up, in the living room, where it doesn’t add to the décor at all. But for some reason. Some silly reason. It gives me comfort.

Then this morning it dawned on me why I left that board up. It has to do with my mom. It’s nearly her birthday.

She would be coming up on her 95th birthday if she wasn’t zooming around in heaven. After she passed away, when it came time to clean out all of her things one thing nobody seemed to need or want was her ironing board. I remember it being put out on the curb and it wasn’t half an hour later when someone stopped in front of the house and picked up her ironing board. 

A woman in a house dress made of material that had huge wildly colored flowers drove by slowly. 

She looked around, slid out of the drivers side grabbed the treasure and threw it in the back of a pick up that had a passel of kids riding in the back too.

The kids squealed like she had made the find of the day. It was like watching an old episode of The Little Rascals.

 I think, on some subconscious level I needed to remember that scene. That, I told myself was why my ironing board was still up in the living room. I can put it away now.

How do those things happen? Memories float around in the atmosphere and suddenly you are bombarded by them. 

Two things I do know. One, I am never bored with my memories. And two, I will never tire of trying to iron out the mess in my head and heart.

Trina lives in Eureka, Nevada. Her funny book, “They Call Me Weener” is available on Amazon.com or email her at itybytrina@yahoo.com to get a signed copy.