Mama’s Store-Bought Slip It was sheer!  It was a pale pink!  It was her first store-bought garment!  The beginning of prosperity made it possible.  All our clothing prior to this was made from rough, valuable feed sacks.  Mama sat at the old Singer sewing machine adjusting knobs, oiling every “nook and cranny”, trying to get that old worn machine in a sewing mood, but there were times when it refused to yield a sound, not even a moan.  These were the days before electricity was a household commodity and everything had to be done manually.  Even our ironing was subject to our ingenuity.  Mama filled the kitchen stove with an overload of wood until it was hot enough to heat three irons.  Then the testing came…she spit on her finger and touched it quickly to the iron, if it responded with a “sizzle,” Mama knew it was “just right” for ironing.   Hurriedly, she swept over the garment, because the iron cooled quickly.  She then put it back on the stove and retrieved another which was hot.  The testing was always a process that required skill and Mama had that down to perfection. One day, my mind was hungry to do something creative, so I decided on my own to iron Mama’s soft beautiful pink slip.  It didn’t need ironing, but I loved to feel the material and admire the pink color.  I thought it would be a pleasant experience.  I took an iron, which to my naïve touch seem acceptable and started my eager journey over the treasured garment.  In a moment, the iron left its signature on her slip.  It was a photogenic picture!  The outline of the iron was without blemish…its color a burnt sienna…an image of my nemesis.  I stood aghast!  I started to cry!  I hurt so deeply for Mama had waited so many years for this lovely garment.  I ran in the next room where she was talking with others.  I took her to the kitchen and showed her the ugly image on her slip.  She put her arms around me and said words I shall always remember.  She gently and softly said, “That’s alright I will fix it!”   With these tender words, she fixed my hurting heart also.  Mama had a kindness about her that always seemed to make things better.  The incident was never mentioned again, but I kept in my cameo of memories this special time with Mama. I don’t know whatever happened to those irons.  They may be in some antique dealer’s shop or in someone’s home used as a doorstop, but as for me, they hold no treasured significance except to remind me of the tender love and understanding of my wonderful Mother. Maxine Tolbert Trigleth
			MUSIC A TOUCH OF JESUS LOVE BY RICK TATUM