I also took her dish towels. I tossed them in with my laundry, and took them out this afternoon to fold.
I was struck, as I folded all my towels into a neat pile, how interchangable and how quickly little remnants of our lives get handed around to each other. For example, see this pile below. Let's start at the bottom, shall we?
The brown towel was originally for the bathroom, in a house I shared with my roommate Lindsey a few years ago. She bought it, and somehow I ended up with it. The year before we lived in that house, we lived with another roommate, Laura. That red towel? Laura's. The one above it, with the birdhouse pattern, is my mothers, which she wrapped some ice into for my split lip and sent me home with it, when my nephew clocked me with a baseball. The towels above it? All Granny's.
Not one of these items in my drawer were bought by me --not one of them. My friend came over the other day wearing my socks. She remarked that she liked them, and wasn't going to give them back. Most of the t-shirts in my drawer from college were never mine originally.
These things that are so small. And yet, all these pieces of my life have taken shape in cotton rectangles, and ended up tucked away in a drawer. Brought out by me to wipe up spills and messes, much like their original owners, all of whom I still lean on almost daily to help me clean up whatever mess I'm in.
My thoughts are still, today, and the anxiety of yesterday and last week are easing. I slept for a long, long time last night and today was good. I spent it taking care of me, and taking care of others from afar, and I walked alot. I breathed in the steamy air and remembered that no matter what, the coolness and clarity of fall always comes back again.
I'm thinking of cool air, and sweet memories of last weekend, tonight.
My neice and I
And a brand-new Three Year Old boy.