by Nan Keltie

Created on: April 21, 2008   Last Updated: April 22, 2008

I can almost see her ironing oh-so-many years ago,
A laundry basket parked nearby, she's listening to the radio.

Her handy water bottle had a stopper-cap with holes,
She always sprinkled every piece before she pressed our clothes.

If ironing unlocks wrinkles, then my Mama was the key!
Our ruffled dresses came out crisp, and shirts were wrinkle-free.

I loved to watch my mother as she did this "work of art,"

Both hands busy, pressing, turning, smoothing every part.

I yearned to do it just like that, and begged to try that day,
So Mama gave me handkerchiefs and taught me the right way.

I soon moved up to Daddy's T-shirts, pillow cases too,
We ironed *everything* back then; it was the thing to do.

My Mama's work of ironing was her way of loving us,
She did it with a joyful heart; we never heard her fuss.

Her old ironing board survived, though it has lost its pad.
It represents those years ago - the simpler life we had.

Back then when life was focused on your home and people there,
I think when Mama ironed for us, she prayed this little prayer:

"Dear Lord, I'm pressing clothes again! I know you will not mind,
There's something special I must ask. Would You please be so kind,

To bless our family of eight? I love each one, you see,
And ironing is my time for prayer, it works out perfectly."

I'm thankful for these memories, how Mama cared for us!
She did it with a joyful heart; I never heard her fuss.

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