It’s 31F here, and starting tonight, we’re supposed to have ice showers, sleet and other slippery stuff for the next two days; so, my Sunday Stroll will be an indoor edition.
While ironing pillowcases for my newly changed bed, I reflected on how many of them incorporate flowers and how much I love to iron them. Each week, I get to pick out a new set of embroidered flowers and smell freshly pressed cotton and lemon scented starch. As a child, I ironed pillowcases for my mother for the princely sum of five cents a case. I thought I was making the big money back then.
They remind me, too, of sleeping at Grandma Nita’s house on clean, starched sheets so slick I slipped right into them after my bath.
My favorites are the oldest ones because they were stitched on really good, thick, cotton material, and it shows. I started collecting them about the same time I began collecting Blue Bubble Depression Glassware, over twenty years ago. As I iron, I wonder, who were these women who stitched each small flower so faithfully? The lilies on the Lily Pads, the blue Forget-Me-Nots, the hand-tatted lace?
Most of the ones I’ve found over the years involve flowers and usually have pinks and blues with the occasional purple and yellow. Although they’re getting more difficult to find, they are still available because, as my mother explained, they were never used, except when entertaining guests. What a charming welcome for the weary traveler who journeyed to visit.
They are also a wonderful way to dispel winter’s gloom. In the land of vintage pillowcases, it is never winter, and the flowers are always at the height of perfection. No drought filled summers, just an eternal spring.
My friend, Becky, nicely let me know that what I thought was crochet was actually tatted. I have changed the post accordingly. Thanks Becky!
For more Sunday strolls, head on over to Aisling’s Quiet Country House where she takes us all by the hand and leads us along the primrose path. Won’t you come along?