The Way She Ironed........

My mother had her ways to get things done around the house. Be it making the bed, washing the dishes,  sweeping the floor, hanging the wet clothes on the clotheslines, folded the clean laundry or even peeling the onions.

One of my mother's weekly housework I loved to watch was ironing my father's uniform. After the dining table was cleared, dishes rinsed and put away, my mother turned the dining table into an iron board in our little kitchen.

She layered the top of the dining table with 3-folded army supply green blanket. On top of the blanket she added two-folded of two or three batik sarungs.

My job was to get a bowl of tap water. I filled up half of the green aluminum bowl with  water and placed the bowl on my mother's right hand side, slightly away from the hot iron. Then she took a bar of wax from top shelf of kitchen cabinet. I don't remember when was the first time I saw that wax, but the wax went every house we moved into.

My mother went into a bedroom and came out with almost a foot pile of my father's starch army uniforms and my school uniforms- blue skirt and white shirt and a half dozen of wooden hangers

She started with my father's green  short sleeve shirt. She spread the shirt wrong side facing her,  dipped her right hand into the water and lightly sprinkled the collar, the sleeves and moved to the body of the shirt. She put the shirt aside and picked the second shirt, third and fourth and did the same thing.

When my mother was done with the fourth shirt, she picked the first sprinkled shirt, spread on the table, on the wrong side, ceased the collar a few times, picked up the wax bar, glided it across the collar from left to right a couple of times. The tiny bits white wax scattered at different part of the collar.

She picked up the iron, pressed the pointed side of the iron onto the shirt's collar right corner, her left hand slightly pulled the left corner of the collar-straightened it up. With one quick, smooth move, like a magician my mother ironed out the wrinkled waxed collar.

Next, she ironed both sleeves and moved to the wrong front sides of the shirt, followed by the back of the shirt. Then she ironed on the right side, ceased the front pocket and checked the loose buttons. She then, hung the shirt onto a wooden hanger.

She repeated the process as my father sat at the end of the table reading the newspaper out loud-sharing the news with my mother. From time to time, he dropped the newspaper on his lap to sip his favorite teh tarik. I sat at my father's elbow, my chin rested on my hands, content.

Note: The sketch above I did a few days ago from my memory.  After the seventh attempt I got it the way I remember it. It was my grandmother's old iron. I learned to use it when I was seven. It was heavy and hot.

Comments

[anasalwa]

Beth,
I'm sorry about your mother. All those beautiful moments I shared with my mother have become a comfort zone for me.
Thank you for your kind words.

[Beth]

I love it when you talk about your mother, and tell these detailed stories, especially now that I am missing my own mother and thinking of her so much. I understand.

[anasalwa]

Azah,
I could imagine how gorgeous it looks on your bookshelf. You mentioned about the rooster made me called my sister KN and asked her about the rooster on top. No, there was no rooster:))

thinktankgirl,
Not to mention you were sweating like...

[Thinktankgal]

That iron those days is like pumping iron these days heh ;)

[Azah]

Anasalwa,

we visited Terengganu on one of our trips home to malaysia. I bought a mini brass iron (I use it as a book end) because it reminded me of my childhood too!

Man, that drawing is great! (you are missing the rooster)