Short notes from my plague town: a soppy song and wrinkled t-shirts

Earlier today, someone in the street — in a car or on a bike — was blasting “The Wind Beneath My Wings,” Julie Gold’s pretty tune (with maudlin lyrics), sung by Bette Midler. I suppose the blaster felt he or she was helping us through the crisis. Me, I’d prefer to choose my own music.

Yesterday, I took my summer clothes out of my cedar closet and put the winter clothes in. The t-shirts emerged wrinkled. I had a dim recollection of an iron buried somewhere in my utility closet. Yes, it exists! I took it out, brushed off the dust. Would it still work?

It does. So I’m doing something I have never done before. I am ironing my many t-shirts. I like my t-shirts. They’re colorful and shapely.

The key lesson in ironing t-shirts is, do not let perfection be the enemy of “OK, that’s smooth enough.”



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