This week I
rediscovered ironing.
Yes, yes, I know. No one irons any more. Today’s fabrics
frequently don’t need it, or wont even take it. But, yesterday’s fabrics are a
different story.
At
the last estate sale I found a veritable treasure, 28 absolutely beautiful,
vintage, lady’s handkerchiefs. Now,
there were many more, but a search through an entire box yielded only the 28 prettiest, in the best condition. Some
are printed, some are embroidered, a few are monogrammed. Some have never been
used, their original tags still attached, some are a little worn but clearly
loved.
So how did this find become a nostalgic afternoon?
After
a good washing and careful inspection, they were nothing more than a large pile of wrinkled
squares of clean, fine cotton and linen, and potential.
In order to make them presentable, they had to be ironed.
In
all fairness, this necessitated buying a new ironing board – apparently they
only last about 25 years, and my last one was leaning precariously. On a cold,
wet afternoon I found an old movie on TV, set up the ironing board, pulled out
the spray starch, and plugged in the iron. Immediately I missed the sprinkle
bottle that sat by my grandmother’s ironing board. You may remember such a
thing – a Coke bottle with a cork inserted in the top and an aluminum
sprinkling head attached. I may have to
find one and order it (if I don’t luck up on one at an estate sale. Also, I
know I’ve seen them on Etsy)
As
soon as the hot iron slid across the first corner of the first handkerchief, I
knew it was going to be a good afternoon. You
see, when a hot iron, steam and Niagra Spray Starch mix on fine, vintage
cotton, magic happens. Press a button
and a wonderful cloud of steam and nostalgia wafts up. Time seems to stand still.
Each piece starts out as a wrinkled wad of cloth - fine cloth, but certainly not presentable. As the iron moves over it and the wrinkles disappear, beautiful details emerge. Some of these linens are so fine that they are almost sheer. They are delicate and feminine. They are small works of art. As each piece is carefully pressed I begin to imagine who might have bought such a thing in the past and who its future owner might be.
Another
has tiny flowers embroidered along the border. One has a cluster of flowers
carefully worked in each corner. Still another has tiny initials GSM
in white
embroidery on an opaque white field.
Watching
the pile of wrinkled cotton decrease and the stack of pristine linen grow, the
realization also grew that for the last hour I was relaxed, lost in memories of
watching my mother or grandmother iron. I reveled in the aroma of steam and
cotton and starch. While this task requires care, it does not require deep thought. My mind was free to wander. The satisfaction of seeing all of the beautiful work done
year and years ago once more glow was incredible.
Now
let no one get carried away and suddenly decide that dropping off your linen at
my door step will be welcome.
The Major will tell you that his (not my) Sunday
morning job when our girls were small, was ironing church dresses. Still, I
enjoyed the afternoon. I accomplished a great deal, and Im looking forward to
the rest of the ironing needed for the shop.
Tea towels, pillow cases, cloth napkins, tablecloths, aprons and
doilies. Ok, the doilies are tedious.
And I have to wonder, why don’t we have these amazing fabrics any more?
When did we let the satisfaction of a quiet afternoon’s work become
drudgery. For me that afternoon’s
ironing resolved a couple of common dilemmas.
A chore was accomplished that needed doing.
Time was found to relax and
enjoy an old movie
(one of my guilty pleasures).
My heart was touched by the
memories of my mother and my grandmothers completing this same task, knowing
the same scents and the same sense of accomplishment.
And it's been confirmed, newer is not
always better.
