If it has been a sunny or breezy day, by the time I get home from the movie matinee, the clothes are dry and ready to be taken in. In the winter time, the clothes would freeze on the line and make the task a bit harder but they were taken down and brought inside to finish drying.

Let's assume it was a warm,dry day.

The task is done with meticulous care...everything must be taken off the line in a way that keeps wrinkles to a minimum.

The wooden pins are removed, one by one, the sheets folded into a perfect rectangle. My mother would hold one end and I the other. On her command, we folded lengthwise, from left to right. I then took my end, marched toward her where she would grab the ends from my hand and continue the folding until she was content with the appearance...then into the basket.

She had a special technique for each piece of laundry and it seemed to take forever.

Once the landry was safely in the house, the ironing ritual began. The old wooden ironing board was set up next to the wood stove an iron trivot placed at the wide end. The iron placed on top of the stove.

An old coke bottle was filled with water and a sprinkler top attached. One by one, shirts and anything that had been starched, were sprinkled with water and rolled up into a tight ball. (This always confused me considering the care with which she folded the clothes as she was taking them from the line.) She placed all the sprinkled items into a special basket and set them aside for later.

My mother ironed everything except socks and underwear, all the while listening to the sounds of Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey, Benny Goodman et al on the radio.

There seemed to be a rhythm to her movements..iron while the iron is hot, return the iron to the stove to reheat, turn the garment this way or that, pick up the hot iron, iron another spot, return cooled iron to the stove...and on and on til the job was done.

My job was to match the socks. Any two alike were rolled into a ball and set in a box according to owner. They would be distributed to the proper drawers at bedtime. There always seemed to be one or two stray socks without a match. These were to be placed in the "sock"bag. There was always the hope that one day the match would show up and the two socks would be reunited. I don't think that happened very often..the bag always seemed to get bigger instead of smaller.

The last bit of ironing was done after supper...that was the starched, sprinkled basket. White shirts apparently were the most important and took the most time. My 2 brothers had to wear white shirts to school every day and my father on special occasions.

After the starched things were done, it was my turn. I got to iron the handkercheifs (before Kleenix) and the doilies for the living room furniture..and the dish towels.

This was pretty much the way it went for the routine weekly laundry but it was a whole other story when it came to spring cleaning and washing the curtains. I won't go into the details right now but trust me..it was a pretty big deal.

It's little wonder to me that my mother used to let out such a groan when she saw kids wearing wrinkled clothes because it was "in style".

*sigh* again.