I like to iron. I find comfort in it. Maybe it’s because I’m a Baby-Boomer who grew up in an age where common sense meant making choices that gave one an advantage, a leg up, so to speak. My family lived on a very limited income, so making the most of what we had was often all there was to make ends meet. My closet contained a few skirts or dresses for school and special outfits for church. Thank goodness I had older cousins who gifted me with hand-me-downs. Yet, I didn’t mind. My mother had a rigid schedule: Wash clothes on Monday, Iron clothes on Tuesday, Clean the House on Wednesday, Mop the floors on Thursday, and so on.
I began ironing my blue jeans when I was a teenager. It came about more out of necessity simply because, at a time when most girls averaged between 5′ and 5’5″, my legs were very long. And I was tall and skinny, which had me towering over my brothers and most boys. I discovered if I used a steam iron, I could stretch the denim to make the jeans longer. Well, one thing led to another and before I knew it, I was ironing everything from tea towels to tee shirts.
Nowadays, I revel in ironing my Turkish tea towels and French linens by spritzing them with Mary Ellen’s Best Press lavender-tinted starch alternative. It smells like I’m ironing in the south of France. The end result? Everything is left with a crisp, new finish. Yes, I still iron my blue jeans and tee shirts. Old habits die hard. Every once in awhile I sneak one of my husband’s Oxford shirts into the laundry basket and mist it with the heavenly scent of French lavender while pressing it wrinkle free. Perhaps its lingering fragrance takes him somewhere in time. Back to the days when we strolled down ancient cobblestone streets, sipping strong coffee in open cafés, basked in the warm sunshine holding hands, stealing kisses, eating baguettes, and drinking French wine.
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