Ironing Meditation

It’s December 27, and all is back to normal. The wrapping paper and bags are stored away; baking equipment and supplies are organized, bagged and stacked; and my morning quiet time has returned. This morning, I woke up to the sight of a row of work shirts waiting to be ironed, and a bin of sheets and towels waiting to be washed.

When faced with ironing, I usually set up the ironing board in front of the television and watch whatever is on as I work through the pile. Not this morning; this morning, I set it all up in the kitchen, put on the iPod, and meditated as I ironed.

Six work shirts were hanging there on the ironing stand. Instead of dreading the task, I was serene in my meditation, thankful for what each shirt represented. As I listened to quiet music, I ironed the rainbow of dark purple, navy blue, royal blue, lilac, and two whites. I thought of how the logo on the front of each shirt, the collars, plackets, sleeves, and buttons collectively represented a turning point in my life in 2014. I transitioned from a job that brought stress, angst, and tears, to one that offered serenity, creativity, a sense of family, and the ability to telework from my home base in Santa Fe to my work base in Amarillo.

My meditation this morning was all about gratitude, and perspective. I don’t “have to” iron; I don’t “have to” go to work next week; I don’t “have to” bundle up in the cold winter morning to drive to work. Instead, I “get to” do all of these things. I get to go to a wonderful job that puts a roof over our heads, a car in my driveway, food on our table, and a plan for a comfortable retirement next year. I get to live in a wonderful home with a furnace that keeps kicking on with a comforting hum, keeping us warm as the thermometer reads 20 degrees outside. I get to delight in the mixed scents of spray starch and lilac coming from the clothes dryer, the taste of a slice of nut bread that was part of a Christmas gift, the sound of a soft piano melody in my earbuds, the touch of each button that I fasten on the shirts, and the sight of special Christmas gifts stacked next to my lounge chair. I am aware that I have so much, and often take it for granted in my daily routine. It’s a meditation about gratitude and perspective.

A cat sleeps on top of the pile of fluffy, lilac-scented towels; I won’t wake him. I’ll wait until he jumps down before I put them away. Such is the serenity of gratitude.