|
 I
haven't posted in a while because I've been insanely busy. You know how
you plan a reward for yourself after you get some other really pressing and
intensive work done? Well that's what posting to my blog has been.
I'm still not caught up, but oh well. Sometimes you just get a treat even
when you don't deserve it, you know, kinda like grace and the whole Gospely
Jesus thing...
Anyway, we (Pr. and Mrs. Fouts and I) discovered at Pr. Fouts' ordination
that Pr. Borghardt should not be allowed to pack his own bags before a trip,
particularly when he's traveling to do pastoral things and is bringing his own
vestments. Oh, he's got a nifty garment bag that he hangs them in.
But then he rolls and bunches up the bag and crams it into his carry-on suitcase
so he won't have to check anything.
...which kind of defeats the purpose of using a garment bag...
I thought we had made this lesson clear when I had to iron Pr.
Borghardt's cassock, surplice, AND stole before he preached in Sugar Loaf the
Sunday of Pr. Fouts' ordination. Apparently not, because there I was
Saturday morning in my Seymour hotel room, ironing them again.
Pr. Fouts arrived on Friday evening with his garment bag of vestments laid
out neatly across the back seat of his car. Remembering the Sugar Loaf
incident, he bragged about how he took better care of his robes so I wouldn't
have to iron them like I did Pr. Borghardt's. (That, and his wife would
likely flay him alive if he tried to shove his garment bag into a suitcase.)
So when we got to the church, the pastors hung up their bags along with the
groomsmen's tuxes and chilled for a bit since we had about 3 hours to kill
before the service. Pr. Borghardt broke the hanger for his so he took them
out to hang them on a working hanger. Apparently they had not been laying
as nicely as we thought in the back of the car because there was a big wrinkle
across the front of his surplice. No problem, this is a wedding.
Surely the ladies dressing upstairs brought an iron or a steamer. They
hadn't. But Mrs. Lemon called up a friend who would arrive 30 min before
the wedding with an iron and all would be fixed with time to spare.
When the groomsmen started dressing for the pre-service photo shoot, Pr.
Fouts took his robes out too. I think he likes to show off his really cool
stoles.
This was when Pr. Fouts discovered that his own cassock and surplice had
slipped off the hanger and had been laying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of
his garment bag since we had arrived at church, possibly even longer.
Judging by the wrinkles, I'd go with longer. There'd be no waiting until
30 min before the service to iron this mess. This was going to take a
while.
So I went on a mad hunt for an iron at the church. I finally found one,
buried in a Sacristy cupboard. I'm pretty sure my grandma had one like it
- why get rid of a classic appliance circa 1952 if it still works?
Nevermind the cloth-covered cord... (FWIW - the iron pictured above is the
actual model I found.) No luck finding an ironing board though. Ever
the clever Madre, I improvised and threw a towel I found in the kitchen over a
padded piano bench in the basement youth room and started ironing.
Fortunately, the fabric used for vestments is pretty high quality stuff and
it irons up quickly. But trying to lay things flat and deal with all sorts
of pleats and gathers is a pain even with an ironing board. On a
towel-covered piano bench, it was quite an adventure. An hour and a half
later, and just in time to get them on and begin the processional, Madre's boys
once again had reasonably pressed cassocks and surplices and yet another
emergency was averted.
I think I'll be bringing my own steamer when I travel now.
Edited on: June 19th, 2006 3:58 pm
|
