Wrinkle Free

I'm an ironer; I thought you should know.  I spent the morning working my way through a basket of clothes, and there's a second one still to do.  You're probably thinking, "Poor girl.  What away to spend her time off!"  The next time I run into you, you'll tell me how you grab your clothes from the dryer as soon as it goes off and they look great.  Which must be true, because honestly, I am not tsk-tsking behind your back.  What you do is fine with me, but . . . I am an ironer.  It's in my genes.  And yes, speaking of jeans, I iron mine.



 I started ironing at a very early age.  (My husband says I exaggerate this, but I really was three.) Oh, I didn't do the difficult pieces.  I began with Daddy's handkerchiefs and graduated to pillowcases.  Too short to reach the ironing board, I stood on Daddy's footstool.  We didn't have a steam iron in those days, so the clothes had to be sprinkled.  Mother had a coke bottle with a little cork sprinkler that fit into the neck. After bringing the clothes in from the line (No dryer, we hung them outside on the clothesline that stretched from one corner of our yard to the other.) she would place them on the kitchen table where she would sprinkle each piece, roll it into a little ball and place it in a plastic bag to "cure" in the refrigerator until Tuesday, which was ironing day.

After pillowcases came petticoats. It was a great place to learn some of the finer techniques of ironing.  There was a ruffle at the bottom of the petticoat, and one had to learn the proper way to iron "gathered" fabric.  There's a lot of smoothing and holding of the fabric just so, to allow for placing the nose of the iron in each gather.   My early experiences weren't without mishaps.  Little girls dresses tended to have puffy sleeves, make that "the dreaded puffy sleeves."  (Seinfeld had nothing on me.)  You really had to work to create a flat surface to iron.  I remember trying so hard to get it right that I accidentally placed the iron on top of my fingers.  To this day I can show you the faint battle scar I received from that early endeavor.  (Thanks to my big sister who took me for a walk around the block to get my mind off the pain.  Some things you just never forget.)

And so I iron.  I find it deeply satifying-the removal of wrinkles.

I was afraid I had failed my son.  At three, he was watching Sesame Street, at five, he was riding bikes.  I'm pretty sure it was the summer before he left for college that I introduced him to the ironing board.  Fortunately, he was a fast learner (gifted even).  Apparently, he had inherited my ironing gene and was known for it in college.

Well, there's that other basket that needs to be done.  However, before I end this piece let me just mention that I also like to vaccuum.  Stay tune for my next blog "Streaks in the Carpet."

           Laundry List

White sheets
Snapping
Flapping
Waving
Sunlight
Toasting
Slowly
Dry
Clouds
Appearing
Laughing
Leering
Storm clouds
Forming
Angry Sky
Mother
Dashing
Grabbing
Snatching
Folding
Scolding
Quick
Inside.