When I was about 10 or 12, I don't remember exactly when, my mom taught me the fundamentals of ironing. Instead of using shirts, she started me on pillowcases and my dad's handkerchiefs. They were nice and flat and easy to do well. For quite a while, my job was to iron the pillowcases and handkerchiefs that came through the wash.
I have mostly given up ironing. AJ does all his own shirts, and was happy to get a new iron with a retractable cord for Christmas. I rarely will iron a shirt placket and collar if needed, but my level of "need" is very very low.
This morning, I was changing all the sheets. I pulled some clean ones out of the closet and started to put them on the bed. The whole set was very wrinkled. For some mysterious reason, the idea of having nice crisp sheets appealed to me and I took the flat sheet and pillowcases downstairs to iron them. I ended up ironing the top third of the flat sheet, along with the two pillowcases. It felt nice to just sit there doing something so mindless while ruminating on life.
It reminded me of two things.
1. When we were on a road trip a few years back and AJ spent half an hour coloring to perfection a princess picture.
2. A poem about a woman (maybe a black woman?) on a hot day doing her iron, and pressing out her problems. I spent a while trying to find this poem online, but couldn't locate it. Does this sound familiar to anyone?
I am quite certain that I won't be turning to ironing again any time soon, but it felt nice to be in control of something, albeit a very small something.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Ironing as Therapy
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4 comments:
Yeah, I know the poem you're talking about. It was on my AP English exam. But I don't know if I can find it either.
I Stand Here Ironing, Tillie Olson
Back when we didn't have a dishwasher, doing the dishes cleared my head in this way you describe. Working on our deck by myself this past summer did the trick, too, just an endless cycle of sawing wood, placing it down and drilling screws in.
Thanks Calandria. I don't remember it as a short story, but then again, I remember very little about it, even the context when I first encountered it.
Ed--I wish there were more mindless household tasks that I could complete and find peace rather than resentment!
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