Iron Clad

Picasso painted one of his saddest works. It's titled simply,  "Lady Ironing". This, one of his earlier, less famous pieces, hangs in the Guggenheim. Its tones are grayed and softly lined. The woman, a thin youngish, creature, evidently in complete exhaustion, hangs over her ironing board pressing and dreaming, her mind, far off  in some undefined world. The painting is large enough to offer its unique impression, easily passed by, but one that elicits, when pondered, pathos in those who take the time to stop and consider it. Women who iron, not that much of it is needed in these times, know how ironing can be a form of meditation among other routine household chores. When you are at the ironing board, smoothing out wrinkles and folds, you feel as though in doing so, how pleasant it would be to be able to do the same with the troubles that we hear and see every day. How easy if we could iron out prejudice, poverty and violence with a simple swish of hot metal pushed around on its cord. I am not fond of scrubbing at things, but I do rather like ironing. In times back, most women in the fifties took pride in doing such  as their husbands' shirts, first applying a bit of starch to make the fabric crackle when you hung it, and then, the delight of savoring the smell of freshly ironed cotton. It's like no other clean scent. But in this day, when time seems to be the driving wish of every human being, ironing has almost vanished. New fabrics treated so that they need little pressing are invented to save time. Even I, who didn't mind the task, actually, use a steamer now, rather than an iron. I hang up the garments that need "doing" on the rack supplied on the appliance itself, and when there are two or three items to steam, I plug the thing in and run the steam-spouting business end up and down and watch the creases simply disappear. There is no dragging out and setting up a stubborn ironing board and squirting all the cottons with a water spray bottle or starch container or after, folding and hanging. The steamer requires only, while doing the job, leaving the garment on the hanger, steaming and  then putting the clothing, on the same hanger, into the wardrobe. Quick and easy, The process takes seconds. I miss Ironing Day which in the past, used to come Tuesday, the day after Monday Wash Day. In those days, working your job, managing a house and family combined, were as common as now, but we set "days" for housework. Now, it's a matter of see it, do it. Get out the little "helper" rigamajig with the handy dandy accessories and fly into it just to get it all done and off your mind. Or better still, let someone else do it and pay them. There is no day dreaming or meditation or crackling shirts involved. And there is no turning back. We've come a long way. Or have we?