1841 Walton Way - Ah, Those Were The Days!

I did something today that I rarely do anymore - I ironed. I ironed sweet little girl dresses, with lots of pleats and ribbons and used lots of starch and steam. I never do this - I am usually reduced to tumbling the outfits in our dryer on the tumble press mode, about 10 minutes before we are walking out of the door. But I found myself with time on my hands this morning, Regis and Kelly on the tube, and baby girl entertaining herself for a few rare moments. I decided to actually pull out the ole ironing board and fire up the steam iron. As I listened to Reg and Kelly yap about...well, who knows...I found myself getting still, silent and going to a place I have visited in awhile in my soul. I used to have these moments often. I spent six years working in a formal wear shop. Six years of ironing, every Tuesday, lots and lots of pretty, pleated, white tuxedo shirts. Believe it or not, this was actually one of my favorite tasks at this much loved job. We had an industrial steam iron and MAN, could it press a shirt - it was a genuinely satisfying experience. Wrinkled, tousled shirt, laid out and pressed flat as a pancake, no wrinkle or crinkle in sight, hung on a hanger to await it's next performance. Satisfying! (I feel this way about vacuuming, but that is for another time.)

Back to ironing. I learned a long time ago, that ironing, although a tiresome task at the formal wear shop, was the calmest task. Sure, it required standing for quite a period of time, depending on the season and how many weddings were held that past weekend, but it was routine, and you could be quiet, alone with your thoughts, completely encased in a warm, steaming cloud. Phone duty was out, because you were ironing, greeting customers too for that matter. It was just a nice break, especially if you were going through personal struggles (as I was for a lot of the time there - again, that is another story), or just wanting to catch up on some good old quiet time. No noise, just the hiss of the steam and the soft pleats submitting to your demands. I miss that shop, I miss that job some days. I miss the fun that was had in that back room - putting together tuxedos, dressing everyone else for the ball, the wedding, the prom, the party I was never invited to. It was heaven most days, the other place some days, but always a place that felt like home to me.

So, this morning, as I ironed, in the quiet of my home, twenty years later, I remembered the sweetness of that time. I remembered how all those years ago, I had stood at an ironing board, and wished for the type of life I have now. The past keeps circling back around. I guess it truly is never the past. Bits and pieces of memories will always live on in us - and they creep in when we least expect them.

Now, I am off to see what else my domestic duties can bring me today - here's hoping it is more good memories!