Ironing
My grandmother loved to iron! She ironed everything! Well, not underwear, that I know of, but towels and sheets and permanent press clothes (which are no longer permanent press after they've been ironed a time or two!). My grandfather was a bus driver and wore a uniform: dark green trousers with a jacket to match in the winter, with tan shirts, long or short sleeved depending on the season. So there was a shirt for each day, at least.
Tuesday was ironing day. The wash was taken off the line Monday, and everything to be ironed was sprinkled with water, rolled up and put in the refrigerator. Tuesday, Mom set up the ironing board in the kitchen, with the tall metal prong on a spring attached to the board that held the cord out of the way. She would lick her finger and tap the iron to see if it was hot enough. It had to sizzle!
When I was little, I remember sitting at the kitchen table watching her. There was the THUMP, when the iron hit the cloth. Mom said it was called "pressing the clothes" for a reason. The iron didn't do all the work, you had to lean into it and press your weight on it. There was a little dish with a wet sponge there, in case you pressed a wrinkle in, instead of ironing it out, so you could wet it and try again. Later, there were irons with a button that sprayed water ahead of the iron, so we didn't need the sponge anymore. Then there was that wonderful clean linen/steam smell, as the water evaporated and the material got hot. Yankee Candle and Glade keep putting out candles called "Fresh Linen", but it never smells like that.
I was 9 when she first let me iron. My mother and grandmother both believed in waiting till I was begging to do something before letting me; it worked with piano lessons too! First there were handkerchiefs, towels, and pillow cases (later in life, she did give up on the towels!), but I graduated to shirts, first mine and hers, and finally Pop's uniform shirts (I was probably 11 before she let me do those). I learned to do the collars and cuffs and work carefully around each button and shape the shoulders on the narrow end of the board. The finished product had to pass her scrutiny.
Ironing was never my chore. I never did all the family ironing; my chores were dusting the furniture in the living and dining rooms and polishing them with Pledge and scrubbing the upstairs bathroom. That was the every Saturday morning job. Mom just thought every woman needed to know how to iron a man's shirt properly, so she taught me, along with lots of other things: sewing on buttons, doing hems, darning socks, and cooking. My mother taught me a different set of skills: reading when I was 3, embroidery when I was 5, and later how to balance a checkbook and do my taxes. I get annoyed at all those Facebook posts that say schools should be teaching life skills. I think life skills are what parents and grandparents teach! My grandmother never let me do all the ironing; she really did like to iron!
Mom starched a lot of things too: the collar and cuffs of Pop's shirts, my uniform collar and cuffs (they were detachable, button ons, to my navy blue serge school uniform), and my high school gym suit and bloomers! St. Mary's Academy had white gym suits, with skirts to the knee and white bloomers under the skirt. I was so embarrassed when my senior home room nun called me up in the front of the room to demonstrate how my gym suit and bloomers were starched so stiffly they could stand up by themselves!
When I left home, my grandmother saw to it that I had an iron and an ironing board (and also a washboard!). Needless to say, I didn't iron. I knew how to treat permanent press, and get them out of the dryer onto hangers. My grandmother was very offended when she gave me two white lab coats in med school and I gave them away because they needed to be ironed. I had enough to do without ironing!
Cut to 20 years later: Diane, my older daughter, was 5, in kindergarten, and brought a note home from school that said "Your daughter is Mary in her class Christmas pageant. Costumes need not be elaborate..." I was off work, recovering from hepatitis, and thought "OK, I can do this. I know how to sew." So I bought a pattern and material and broke out the iron and ironing board to press the seams. Diane asked me what they were. They had been in the closet for years but she had never seen them!
The next time Diane saw the iron was the night of her senior prom. Her date walked in with a shirt that looked like he had just unrolled it and put it on. I told him to take it off, and I ironed it. I was proud to discover that I could still iron a man's shirt. I felt like such a hero!
Now, retired, there are projects I would like to do. One is a memorial quilt with my grandmother's aprons and tablecloths. Unfortunately, this will again require breaking out the iron to do the seams. I do not have the faintest idea how to start making a quilt, but, thanks to my grandmother, I will know how to iron the seams!
Tuesday was ironing day. The wash was taken off the line Monday, and everything to be ironed was sprinkled with water, rolled up and put in the refrigerator. Tuesday, Mom set up the ironing board in the kitchen, with the tall metal prong on a spring attached to the board that held the cord out of the way. She would lick her finger and tap the iron to see if it was hot enough. It had to sizzle!
When I was little, I remember sitting at the kitchen table watching her. There was the THUMP, when the iron hit the cloth. Mom said it was called "pressing the clothes" for a reason. The iron didn't do all the work, you had to lean into it and press your weight on it. There was a little dish with a wet sponge there, in case you pressed a wrinkle in, instead of ironing it out, so you could wet it and try again. Later, there were irons with a button that sprayed water ahead of the iron, so we didn't need the sponge anymore. Then there was that wonderful clean linen/steam smell, as the water evaporated and the material got hot. Yankee Candle and Glade keep putting out candles called "Fresh Linen", but it never smells like that.
I was 9 when she first let me iron. My mother and grandmother both believed in waiting till I was begging to do something before letting me; it worked with piano lessons too! First there were handkerchiefs, towels, and pillow cases (later in life, she did give up on the towels!), but I graduated to shirts, first mine and hers, and finally Pop's uniform shirts (I was probably 11 before she let me do those). I learned to do the collars and cuffs and work carefully around each button and shape the shoulders on the narrow end of the board. The finished product had to pass her scrutiny.
Ironing was never my chore. I never did all the family ironing; my chores were dusting the furniture in the living and dining rooms and polishing them with Pledge and scrubbing the upstairs bathroom. That was the every Saturday morning job. Mom just thought every woman needed to know how to iron a man's shirt properly, so she taught me, along with lots of other things: sewing on buttons, doing hems, darning socks, and cooking. My mother taught me a different set of skills: reading when I was 3, embroidery when I was 5, and later how to balance a checkbook and do my taxes. I get annoyed at all those Facebook posts that say schools should be teaching life skills. I think life skills are what parents and grandparents teach! My grandmother never let me do all the ironing; she really did like to iron!
Mom starched a lot of things too: the collar and cuffs of Pop's shirts, my uniform collar and cuffs (they were detachable, button ons, to my navy blue serge school uniform), and my high school gym suit and bloomers! St. Mary's Academy had white gym suits, with skirts to the knee and white bloomers under the skirt. I was so embarrassed when my senior home room nun called me up in the front of the room to demonstrate how my gym suit and bloomers were starched so stiffly they could stand up by themselves!
When I left home, my grandmother saw to it that I had an iron and an ironing board (and also a washboard!). Needless to say, I didn't iron. I knew how to treat permanent press, and get them out of the dryer onto hangers. My grandmother was very offended when she gave me two white lab coats in med school and I gave them away because they needed to be ironed. I had enough to do without ironing!
Cut to 20 years later: Diane, my older daughter, was 5, in kindergarten, and brought a note home from school that said "Your daughter is Mary in her class Christmas pageant. Costumes need not be elaborate..." I was off work, recovering from hepatitis, and thought "OK, I can do this. I know how to sew." So I bought a pattern and material and broke out the iron and ironing board to press the seams. Diane asked me what they were. They had been in the closet for years but she had never seen them!
The next time Diane saw the iron was the night of her senior prom. Her date walked in with a shirt that looked like he had just unrolled it and put it on. I told him to take it off, and I ironed it. I was proud to discover that I could still iron a man's shirt. I felt like such a hero!
Now, retired, there are projects I would like to do. One is a memorial quilt with my grandmother's aprons and tablecloths. Unfortunately, this will again require breaking out the iron to do the seams. I do not have the faintest idea how to start making a quilt, but, thanks to my grandmother, I will know how to iron the seams!
I use a hammer with sewing some bulky seams. Steam first, pound, press. Your grandmother would approve.
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