The other night I did some ironing. Nothing major: cloth napkins, tablecloths, pillow cases.

The hiss of water in the steam iron, the glide of the flat plate over cotton, the puff of steam –women have been making similar, smooth, repetitive motions for centuries.

The steam iron’s a 20th century invention. Back in the day, my grandmother and mother would shake a sprinkler bottle of water to dampen clothes before smoothing out wrinkles with a hot iron. The percussion of the bottle kept the beat to parts of my childhood.

Generally, I dislike housework but I’ve loved ironing ever since.

Grown now, I rarely take the ironing board out. But when I do, I find the constant push of the Rowenta iron soothing. A meditation that connects me with my female roots.