Talking While Ironing

I've been ironing.  On an ironing spree really.  I grab a few items from my closet and get to smoothing with the steam rising.  Thinking if I keep ironing in the evenings then my mornings will be a little less "whoa!" and a lot more "ahhhh."  I also believe at some point I will be all ironed, as in have my whole closet ready to roll.  But then I realize I have to wear clothing every day so that logic goes right out the window.

 

So I iron.  In the evenings.      

And when I iron, I like to talk on the phone.  It feels right.  Like stepping back in time a bit before texting and emailing and all other non-verbal forms of communication (enter the high five and the head bob).  When we used to talk to people.  With our voices.  So they could hear our excitement or our fear or our general disdain or our ridiculous happiness.  It's much easier to fake emotions in written words than in our spoken thoughts.  Therefore, I am making a conscious effort to talk.  With my voice.  To my people.  While I iron.  

It connects me to a simpler time.  As I become older, I am realizing I crave the simple and uncomplicated.  A time of sitting with my legs curled in a chair while some crocheting rests in my hands in the evening like my grandma used to do.  Please know when I say simple, I don't mean easy.



 

Anyways, moving back along to the topic at hand.

The other evening, my ironing phone call was to my little sister who happens to be navigating her first week in college.  Her first week living five hours away from home in a new city with new people.  I ironed while she rolled about her classes and her roommate and dining room shenanigans and rock climbing classes and the excitement about the unchartered.

"You're really feeling alright about everything?  Because you know if you are upset or sad or worried or nervous, it's okay to talk about that stuff too."

"No really.  I'm fine.  Like it's good Amy."

My sister.  Ever the wordy girl.  I must have taken all the wordiness of the family because I can sure use them.  Over use them often.  But Sister Pister has a way of cutting to the chase.  And I knew by the way she said that it's good, she meant it.  Because we were talking with our voices after all.  While I ironed.  

Last week I made it a point to be at her last jackpot barrel racing of the summer.  It felt necessary for me to be there as she started her transition to the next phase.  Started the saying of goodbye.

 

 

I find my favorite part of being there is to watch her warm up; it's like the rest of the world falls away until it's just her and her horse.  Doing their thing.  The bond they share gives me the heart squeeze feeling.

 

 

The running ahead at full speed gets me too.  Here's where I could go with a corny tie in about going full speed ahead into her future too.  But I won't.  I'll spare you this time.

 

 

I think she should still be little.  She'll always in some way, be little.  I think that's the way it works with the baby of the family.  Dad-o never called Em by her name when she was a baby, he called her "Dad's Little" which turned into just "Little" as she grew up.  It will be a change for all of us; not having the Little around all of the time.       

 

  

Yes, a shift of time is happening.  Knowing she has reached the point of entering adulthood.  Well at least the in-between grown up land of college where sometimes you can still call Dad-o when you need some money for Easy Mac from Sam's Club.  Anyways, there's a shift going on.  And it makes me hyper aware of my own sense of growing older too.  Which makes me want to freeze the right now and keep that little sister of mine at home.  But I realize she won't want to live in her basement bedroom at the farm forever so it's time to let her spread her wings.  It's not easy though.   

 

 

All leg holding aside, I know my sister is more than ready for this next stage in her life.  She will go at it with the same confidence and smarts and wits and determination and level head-ness as she has pulled from her entire life. 

 

And I'll be the older sister who she can call when it gets punchy.  I'll be the older sister who stands in her dining room with the cool hardwood under my feet with the warm steam from the iron rising in the air to meet my face.  I'll be the older sister who listens.  Listens and reminds her she is the world.