A few weeks ago, the funniest thing happened while I was preparing to iron on a Saturday night.

I took a skirt off of it’s hanger and mindlessly hung it on a nearby doorknob. A little “clink” sounded when the hanger hit the door. Instantly, my mind was flooded with sweet sounds and memories.

I used to hear that “clink” sound a lot on Saturday night.

My mom would be quietly ironing in the corner of the family room closest to the laundry area. I hear the spritz of the spray starch, the poof of the steam, the fabric being readjusted on the board, and of course, the clink of the hanger either coming or going from the doorknob.

Everyone in general was spread out sort of doing their own thing.

My dad’s chair creaks in his office. He must have sat back to think for a minute about his Sunday school lesson. The chair creaks again as it’s returned to upright position; smooth dark fingers return to typing and clicking away.

I can hear my brother walking back and forth in the hallway, thinking out loud to no one in particular.

There are a number of sounds my sister might have been making. Practicing that offertory one more time, fussing in front of the closet, or moving positions on the couch while she devoured a book.

I really can’t for the life of me remember what I would have been doing. Certainly not paying attention to anyone around me.

Funny now, how it all seems so clear.