Wood clunked on wood as Mom angled into the door and rested the bulky panel on the floor. She sucked in a big breath, grasped both sides and lugged it into the kitchen. The white fabric-covered board pointed upward while she lowered the legs, then bent the arm and pushed it into the first slot of the wooden base. Grabbing the cushioned top, Mother set up her ironing board.
This item is available in full to subscribers.
We have recently launched a new and improved website. To continue reading, you will need to either log into your subscriber account, or purchase a new subscription.
If you are a digital subscriber with an active subscription, then you already have an account here. Just reset your password if you've not yet logged in to your account on this new site.
If you are a current print subscriber, you can set up a free website account by clicking here.
Otherwise, click here to view your options for subscribing.
Please log in to continue |