I like the days when things shift and it feels as though you have somehow slipped through a rip in time. Sunday dinner finished, washing up done, I found myself yesterday doing something my nan did every Sunday: the weeks ironing.
Pressing a nan me down jumper and cardigan from, I believe, the 1960's, I noted the missing button, which was lost long before it became mine. I retrieved my button jar and sorted through to find a match. There was one solitary contender, it was a fraction too big to match but I decided to use it anyway.
Reaching for my sewing box, I sat and attached the button. Billy Fury was playing in the background, it was quiet outside and all felt wonderfully old fashioned, like I could have fallen through that rip in time.
I have had these perfectly serene moments before, but two stand out.
The first was cooking Christmas dinner one year. I was alone, there wasn't a soul on the street and I was listening to the famous Orson Welles War Of The Worlds radio broadcast. That moment was pretty much near perfect.
The second was one summer as I sat on the sofa darning a sock. Again, so quiet. The window was open and I suddenly heard a push lawnmower making its distinct sound. Peering behind me, I saw the man across the road mowing his front lawn. Soon the smell of cut grass filled the room.
For an old fashioned girl such as myself, I believe it all comes down to those wonderful quiet times when I am doing things women have done for decades before me without thinking. It's so perfectly domestic that I believe time does rip, just for a moment and I am rewarded with that wonderfully perfect little treat of stepping back in time.