The Art of Ironing

I wonder what comes to mind when you see an iron. For me, it is my mother. It is the distinct memory of my mother teaching me the art-form of ironing a button-up shirt as a 7 or 8 year old girl. Just drag the iron over the fabric right? Oh, no. I can remember her hovering over me. . . stretching, pulling, water-spraying, shimmying, arm strength, the collar first, then the shoulders, arms, front and back. You'd think that all of this work wouldn't be fun. Nope. My mom loves it. She'll iron for hours with Hoosiers on in the background. Well, it explains why my dad (and mom) always look so sharp. Thanks Mom.