It’s almost the time of year to swap the winter robe for my gauzy writing robe and I love the feel of this robe. It’s made by Honest Cotton and when walking, it floats along with you. I’ve worn it for years, so it’s thinning in the elbows from writing.

When I was 18, I wanted to be a model and was hired by a modeling agency in NC to learn. After completing their classes, they started me in photoshoots and one of the upcoming shoots required we wear red and black. I didn’t have anything red, so I went shopping and fell in love with a red, cotton blouse covered in ruffles.

Mama took one look at the blouse and said, “If you’re gonna wear that, you’re gonna iron it”, and that was when Mama taught me how to iron.

The red shirt was constantly in the ‘to be ironed’ pile, so eventually, I stopped wearing it because it was torture with all the ruffles. After I was married, everything that needed ironing was taken to the dry cleaners, but there was always an ironing board in the house and thanks to Mama, I knew how to use it.

Recently, I purchased a blouse similar to what I wore in those dry cleaning years, so knew once it was washed, it would need ironing. When I was younger I viewed ironing as a dreadful chore, but today I see it as an opportunity to wear something nicer than my usual t-shirt. The ironing board was being stored in my gardening shed and it hadn’t been touched since we moved here, so I was almost afraid to look at it.

Stepping into the shed, there was the ironing board hanging on the wall and I studied it for a minute, just to make sure nothing crawled out of it. I retrieved it and carried it into the yard, but all I could see was dust from not being used. I grabbed the water hose, attached a spray nozzle and hosed it down thoroughly. Opening it up to it’s standing position I hosed it down again and left it sitting in the sun to dry.

After the board dried, I brought it inside and the dogs were scared of it. I nodded my head in agreement because it was pretty scary to be doing this after not doing it in years. Once the iron had heated, I laid the blouse onto the board and it was like I could hear Mama’s voice as if she was standing behind me, looking over my shoulder, saying. “Shoulder seams first and make your way to the back”. I grinned as the iron moved across the fabric releasing each wrinkle by following the steps she’d taught.

Once the shirt was complete without wrinkles, I hung it on a hanger to see how it turned out. The process was such a mindful moment which often happens while working with our hands and focused on what’s in front of us. St. Francis of Assisi says, “He who works with his hands is a Laborer. He who works with his hands and head is a Craftsman. He who works with his hands, head and heart is an Artist.”

I hadn’t considered the blouse a work of art, but all 3 things were poured into it. It felt like starting over, but having everything needed to succeed. If you still iron clothes, you know the deep satisfaction of slipping into a freshly ironed shirt, and with every stroke of the iron, we’re creating beauty, through the art of ironing.

Feature Photo by Dee Dee on Unsplash