Every year when I put up the tree I have these beautiful hand crocheted angels that I hang on the tree. Last year the angels were in dire need of a bath. I washed them, dried them and put them away. This year when I unpacked the decorations there they were. They were clean and limp! I know when I bought them there were stiff, firm and clean. I guess I washed the starch out of them.
Today I finally went out and bought some liquid starch with no clue how to do this. I'm from the age of spray starch. I know that people use to mix this stuff and dip the clothes? spray the clothes? Clueless here. Anyway, I poured a bunch of that liquid stuff in a pan and soaked the little angels, wrung em out and spread them on a towel to dry. These are made from thread, not yarn. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for stiff angels.
I did some weekend supervising at a nursing home. There was this little lady that made these angels and sold them for spending money (is there any other kind?).
She charged $1.00 per angel which I thought was one great deal. I bought a dozen. These are the angels that I washed. I miss them on my tree. I'm waiting for them to dry and I sure hope this works.
My weekend supervising job was to comply with the law which states an RN must be on duty for 8 hours in a 24hr period. I was the RN. I had a full time job but I always looked forward to my weekends at the nursing home.
I loved listening to the residents life stories and everyone of them had a story. Reminiscing is great therapy. Few people have or take the time to give the elderly attention. I would gather a bunch of them in a circle and ask them to pick 10yrs of their life and tell me about it. Some chose childhood years, some teen years and so on. What an interesting time we would have on the weekends! Some of these people were housewives; some were professionals but all of them were interesting.
I remember a time about 40yrs ago when I encountered an elderly white haired senior sitting in a chair on the porch of a little general store in Dubois, Wyoming. Dubois is a small mountain town that was a hideout for outlaws back in the day.
The town comes complete with it's own opium den remaining from the days the Chinese were bought there to lay the railroad.
As I exited the store and was waiting on my friend to pick me up I acknowledged this little lady. We started talking and I moved to the wooden steps of the porch and sat down. In the course of the conversation she took off her bonnet and showed me her scalp. Her head was covered by wispy thin hair. Scars were visible from the front of her head to mid line of her head. She had been scalped by Indians. She told me her story; I was enthralled. I'm sure I will never have the opportunity to meet anyone else with this story; they must be passed away now. I'm sure this little lady is long gone. She was feeble, small and frail when I met her. Since that time, I always make it a point to stop and acknowledge the elderly. You just might miss out on the most memorable story in your lifetime by ignoring them!