I was just ironing the cloth napkins for the Bird's Nest, when I realized the B&B napkins and tablecloths are probably the only ironing I do today. Not so in the 60's when there was actually a day set aside for ironing. I ironed the babys' clothes, my clothes, shirts for my IBM husband, a white shirt fresh for each day. There was no spray starch, so you "sprinkled" the clothes with water first, keeping them in the refrigerator to stay damp in the summer heat. Ironing was a part of life. I learned how to iron by ironing my father's handkerchiefs, first flat, then doubling over, and over until a small white square was done. My father took a clean hankie every day. I remember my sister Maureen telling me that her boyfriend was taught to always carry two handerchiefs (he learned this at dance class) in case a girl ever needed to use one. I guess it was manners to hand her a fresh one! Any way, ironing was, as I said a part of life. My Aunt Muriel knew how to iron. She would set up the ironing board, this was not easy in the old days. They were a wooden contraption, that you had to get just right or it would collapse in the middle of a delicate job. So, she would set up the board, heat up the iron and pour herself a glass of wine. In the 60's drinking was also a part of life. No one thought anything of drinking in the afternoon, or even pouring a little glass while you stuffed the turkey in the early morning hours. My Aunt was from Montreal, spoke French, was very sophisticated, so I too would sometimes pour a glass of wine while I ironed. You be surprised how it helped. Grandma Burky did laundry for people to bring in some money during the Depression. She taught my sister Barbara and me how to iron a man's shirt. Her ironing board was just the board, no legs. She would balance it on the dining room table and a corner shelf. Anyway, she showed us how you do the collar and the cuffs first. Then the arms, then the left side, right side and last the back. She would fold the whole thing up and I swear it looked like it came out of the dry cleaners. My mother did not have my Grandma's skill or the desire. Her way of ironing was unique. She would start by laying a sheet over the board. On top of this she would put other flat items, a tablecloth, pillow cases, a skirt, kitchen towels, etc. She would keep piling on the items and then finally, on the top do a kid's shirt, or a pair of kids' pants. I guess she thought this was efficiency. My father did his own ironing (do you wonder why?) Every night he would iron his pants for the next day's work. He did it completely different than Bucky. He would lay just the pants on the board. Then he would test the iron, over and over again, until it was just the right temperature. Carefully arranging the pants legs to get the seam exactly in the center, he would iron them using a damp cloth and sometimes I remember him laying a newspaper over the seam first. You know, writing this I almost miss ironing. It was a meditation, taking items from the laundry basket, ironing them, folding them, putting them in neat piles to later go in the proper drawers, until the basket was empty, ready for next week. A lost task. A lost art. Like the dinosaur, someday, there won't even be irons.