How I loved those razor sharp pleats
I waited patiently as she ironed the last crease,
like it took her an eternity, but so worth the wait.
I slipped into my little sassy skirt
and off in a flash to the ball,
the mirror ball that was, hovering over the Victoria Ballroom.
of 'Wonderful Land'echoing in the empty ballroom air and the sun gleaming through those Victorian window panes,
the ball reflecting it's shimmering, flickering lights on the shiny wooden dance floor and to me that was, a most wonderful land!
The anticipation rose as the room filled,
soon I'd be strutting my stuff, swirling my skirt as high as it would go, oh the thrill of it all, the boys may even see my knickers!
What did I care?
I rather liked it!
She, my Mum, was just the best at ironing, they ironed for hours in those days, the women folk. After World War II in England it was unheard of for 'ladies' to work, their work was about house and home, of which laundering took precedence, washing Monday, ironing Tuesday, everything went in the basket, from Dad's dungarees to dusters!
Today I'm revising my opinion about ironing,
yesterday only the necessities got done,
time was too valuable to waste on trivia, so I thought.
Today I feel different, I began to remember a time when I delighted in clean, freshly ironed bed linen on my bed, remembering too how therapeutic it was to smooth over those creases whilst my mind meandered here and there.
But, more than that, today it's about honing in on the precious skills my mother taught me, by so doing honouring her through ritual, remembering how loving she was, taking pride in her work and her child.
Keeping her beautiful self vivid and alive in my mind,
lest I forget how grateful I am to her for life itself,
is part of my revised ritual.
"dashing away with the smoothing iron"
Sending to Postcards from Paradise