The Ironing Board

My daughter-in-law was sitting in my guest room in the “massage” chair. She plugged it in and couldn’t figure out why it wouldn’t go on. Well, she plugged in the iron instead. I had the ironing board up for a sewing project. I was teasing her that she probably didn’t even have one herself. Which she replied NO… and no iron either.

Ha, Ha, I hardly ever iron either with all the great fabrics we have now. I remember having a basket of clothes to iron. I had that pile for a few years, then I realized I needed to just get rid of those clothes, they made me feel guilty every time I walked by and if I didn’t need them after all that time why bother. That was an epiphany of sorts.

As a child I remember coming home from school and my mother would be watching baseball on TV smoking her cigarette and ironing away. Sheets and pillowcases and my dad’s boxer shorts.

Ironing was one of our chores. I dreaded it. And I hated ironing our uniform blouses. Even though we wore a sweater all day we had to iron the whole blouse, not just the front and collar.

There were no water bottles then so we used an empty soda bottle with a sprinkler attachment to get the clothes just damp enough to iron out the wrinkles. If you didn’t get to them right away they would be ruined with mildew. Yikes!


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