On Strength, Renewal & Strange Comfort In Old Dishcloths...

I mended one of my dishcloths today.

I'm not really left handed, but I had to
shoot this with my right...

A rather sad sounding highlight in a day full of otherwise boring logistical challenges and WAHM-related frustrations.

But it was a singular *MISSION ACCOMPLISHED* in the midst of ongoing projects that feel at the moment as if they'll never end. And that if they ever do, will never succeed.

I'm going to get a little sentimental about an inanimate object as I so rarely do, but it felt a little like nursing an old friend who's under the weather. That dishcloth, and the three others that came with her, have been with me for eight years - through illness, divorce, upheaval, total loss, and a miraculous sort of redemption...

They've been remarkably sturdy and wouldn't even require stitching if it weren't for the kids gashing them by drying knives in a manner that makes me very nervous despite repeated warnings of the potentially painful and bloody consequences.

And I'm still as much in love with the (now faded) earthy aubergine color and organic leaf pattern today as I was when I bought them eight years ago at Tuesday Morning where I so often love to get lost in the pots, pans, dishes, napkins, aprons... And the dishcloths - none of which I've wanted as much as I wanted these when I got them.

Which I think might be the reason I keep them.

There's something oddly redeeming in the fact that I still have them, and love them, after all these years, after so much change, and after having left just about every other piece of a kitchen I'd collected for thirteen years in a house and a life as completely and permanently divorced from me as my current life will allow.

After having to revise so many of my values and standards because the previous ones had so painfully betrayed me, it's a strange sort of comfort that I get to keep - without regret, guilt or a discomfiting kind of nostalgia - this one of few material keepsakes of the person I was for so many years.

I've packed light all my life, and I packed even lighter when I left. And it taught me that my material possessions were merely a reflection of what I like and enjoy, not pieces of me to lessen or diminish me for their absence or loss.

But these dishcloths were willing and able to travel light with me, and I continue to enjoy them and love them, perhaps all the more for the stitches that show the living and traveling we've done together.

And I've got plenty more thread. :)




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