Yesterday I ironed. This is unusual. Usual would be me putting things back in the dryer for a quick fluff instead of ironing. I’m sure my mother, who taught me to iron by having me press my father’s undershirts, would be appalled. She would also be appalled that when I finally decided it was time, I couldn’t find said iron. We’ve lived here for six months and evidently I have not unpacked my iron. In fact, I have no recollection of where it might be. It was one of those last things to get packed and may have been among the items that sweet friends packed for me. At any rate, here we are six months later and the iron is completely MIA. Handily, there was an iron here when we arrived so I just dug that one out of the box of items I stuffed in the garage.
Clearly there are very few things I deem worthy of breaking out the iron but I think cloth napkins are absolutely worth it. Since there are just the two of us, we have fallen into that terrible eat-in-front-of-the-tv habit…even if we aren’t watching tv. Somehow we seem to sit on the couch to eat unless we have guests. But when family or friends are coming over we always sit at the table. And I always use cloth napkins. I know some people think it’s not worth the effort but I think it communicates how much I value my guests. So table linens end up to be pretty much the only thing I iron anymore.
I have this mental thing that says “I hate to iron” but once I get started I settle into a bit of a rhythm and I find it very zen. My obsessive tendencies come out and I press the napkins, fold them carefully, and stack them up precisely so that they’ll be pristine when they’re placed on the table. While I am ironing I think about how the table will look and anticipate the gatherings of family and friends where they’ll be used. It turns out that I kind of love ironing.
Good thing too since my parents came for dinner last night so I have a new stack of napkins to iron.