I love it at night. It's peaceful. And when it cools down I sometimes do some ironing. I don't really care for it. I work full-time and am too busy for most housework. I remember the old woman who taught me to iron . I was about 15 and somehow got a live-in job taking care of a woman who had been an able-bodied, healthy woman until the accident that caused her to be paralyzed. The woman had an electric wheelchair. She could move her head and arms but not her hands or fingers. She had this clamp attached to her arm and I'd have to open it and put a cup or a pencil in it and then she could move it. She would tell me how to do things. She would instruct me in great detail on the correct way to do things. Her home was perfect and beautiful. She would follow me around in her electric wheelchair to make sure I did everything exactly right. I'm sure she had been a perfect homemaker. She would have me fold everything, including socks and pillow cases. I would complain silently and wish terrible things on her. She taught me the right way to make the bed and tuck the corners. I know sometimes she'd get frustrated and impatient with me. I knew she wanted to grab it and do it herself. But she never yelled or scolded. Only she insisted I do it right. I didn't like it much, but I did it. Today I can iron pretty well. I know where to start on a shirt, the right way to do the collar and sleeves. Now that I think about it, I don't think she is an old lady. I think she might have been about my age now. Anyway, when I iron, I think of her and silently thank her for all the things I learned. The writer used to take care of the lady because   _  .
she wanted to earn some money while sleeping and eating there she wanted to learn how to do housework she was a relative of the disabled woman she had to do something in return to the lady for her kindness