(2) Strike While the Iron is Hot
The black irons sat cold in their wire cradle. Why couldn’t we put them on the stove, I wondered aloud. Because it’s time to fix supper. There were some excuses about not wasting the wood that I really didn’t understand. Finally, when the wash water went on the stove, so did the irons. I was so excited. While they warmed, I had to make a portion of starch water. After adjusting the wooden ironing board to a height I could reach, I laid the pieces of pre-cut Sue on a flannel covered towel. I was ready. However, Granny said there was a lot to do before we could start ironing.

What now!? Sue needed to be sponged with water, the edges rolled and pinned. Whattttt? I didn’t remember seeing any of that being done. No, I usually went out to play when the ironing was being done in the morning, or asleep when they ironed at night. So began lesson two of Sunbonnet Sue. Curling the edges of the fabric with my fingers and a butter knife and pressing the edges with a desert spoon, then pinning the turns so they didn’t come undone. I tried to hide the yawns. The sun was low in the sky. I was really ready to crawl into bed and read my self to sleep. However, I had hot irons waiting.

I stirred the cornstarch water with my finger and rubbed the folded edges of the pinned pieces. After positioning the pieces close to each other on the ironing board, I got my first iron. Grandmothers frail hand covered mine as we placed the iron on the corner of the ironing board, counted to five, then lifted it. We felt the spot where it had sat. “Just right,” she said. “Almost too hot to touch, but not hot enough to burn.” The iron moved to the collection of gingham prints. “Press down. Only down. Lift and move the iron. Press down again. Don’t wiggle, and don’t wait too long before lifting the iron,” advised my wise grandmother. “1,2,3,4,5," I said hurriedly, then tried to lift the iron. Her hand remained firm over mine, holding for “3, 4, 5." Then we looked. “Move the iron to the damp spots, and press again.” And so we did. When everything looked dry, my grandmother advised that we put the pieces a safe place where the cat wouldn’t bother them until morning.

. . . to be continued, next Monday

Can't wait til Monday:)

Hey, did you live with us way back in the hills during the depression? Sounds like it.
And you had to have two irons, one getting warm on the wood stove while you rubbed the hot one on a cloth to see that it wasn't dirty from the wood stove, then ironed like mad till it cooled off. Then on the stove it went and, if you didn't have a solid iron, you took the handle off it and stuck it in the now hot one! No wonder they called them Sad irons!!

I can hardly wait for the next installment. Really does hit my memory button and turn it on.

thank you so much for the stories. love it.

Wonderful...can't wait until next Monday....

My memory is fuzzy on that cleaning part, I think the irons rested on trivets while they heated on the stove. Granny had stacks of butcher paper which she used to slick up the irons. They had several irons going so that my grandmother and aunt could iron at the same time - at least two irons each heating at the same time. It really didn't seem like a time warp for me because that was the way it always was. In New Orleans, I had all the modern conveniences of indoor plumbing, washer and dryer, and electric irons.

I LOVE Mondays just to read your stories!!! Keep 'em coming!!

Sorry I didn’t get this posted earlier today. This was our Guild retreat weekend. We had sooooo much fun. The road to the campground, where I slept when I wasn’t sewing, was the one less traveled. There was still a good bit of snow and ice on the road, which only added to the excitement.

Oh my I just love this story. Can not wait until next week's installment. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.