each dishcloth has its own personality and character, its own drama and its own story or perhaps stories to tell
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This is my dishcloth.
I bought it 15 years ago, when we married and the kitchen was white (1986). That was in our old house in West Roxbury. The dish towel is older than Aldi, since moving to Wayland.
It has dutifully served our family needs. I have tried to dispose of it without success. It always reappears. It has many lives.
—Gunta K.
“Better late than never. No special stories associated with this dish towel. I remember receiving it as a gift at a shower. Since then, I’ve used it and used it. I liked it better than the terry cloth ones. Initially, it was a dish towel. After a while, it became a rag. It certainly got its use.”
—Margy (a woman who worked with my mother)
“I am sorry this took so long. I guess my dishtowels are not that exciting.
Several years ago, after my mother saw me run out of dry dishtowels, she decided to give me a large supply. She went to a flea market and bought dozens of towels.
They had been produced for an occasion that had passed by (past holidays, calendars for years that had passed, long ago events, etc.) and were very inexpensive. They’re not very attractive, but they do dry dishes. I hope your project goes well.”
—Sally L.
“Years ago when we lived more frugally, Bill, my husband, would take our four children up to New Hampshire for Labor Day. It was my weekend off.
My birthday is August 30th. This dishtowel was a gift from my youngest son David, then five years old.
He was touched that I had saved it all these years.
Life was different back then…
I’m not sure how my children are going to balance career and family.”
—Marty M.
“I am sorry it took so long for me to deliver this. I hope you can still use it. This dishtowel was given to me by my mother. When I was a child (10–13 years old). We lived outside of Edinburgh, Scotland. (my mother is of partly Scottish ancestry.)
Years later my parents visited Scotland again and my mother bought us each a towel. I can’t remember exactly when, but I think this was shortly after we were married in 1979.
I have saved the towel and treasure it as a reminder of our years there. I have occasionally used it when you asked us for a dishtowel that has followed us everywhere. Good luck on your project.
I would like to have this back when you are finished. Thanks.”
—Kim W.
Latvian Homemaker
—Detroit, Michigan
This is the only cloth remaining from my grandmother.
It is hand embroidered.
“I thought of you when I found this sorry looking dish towel, especially its interesting monograph… lovely isn’t it? I felt that it might fit your project. We’ve just moved back to Iceland, living in an apartment. It’s been ten years since we left…”
—Almadis K., Akureyri, Iceland
“I lived in Kansas City, Missouri when I was an art student at the Kansas City Art Institute from 1994–1997. I used to make focaccia all the time for dinner. One night I left a newly cooked focaccia on the chopping block. I covered it with the dish towel, because it was still hot from the oven and I didn’t want to suffocate it with saran wrap. I thought the cotton dish towel would let it breathe overnight. When I awoke in the morning, a mouse had burrowed through two layers of cloth into the focaccia below and ate a hole in it.”
—Donna M.
“This dishtowel has been with me since I moved into my own studio apartment after college in 1989. I bought it because it matched my kitchenette and it looked nice. Truthfully, however, at that point it received little or no use. The dishtowel found its way into my boxes when I moved down to Villanova to go to law school. It was probably one of ten things I owned at that point—a bed, two dishes, a television, a towel, etc. While in law school, the dish towel got slightly more use than it did in my Winthrop studio apartment. It didn’t look as nice in my new kitchen. It didn’t match anything and it had a few stains. Nevertheless, buying a new dish towel was my last priority, then. When I had Douglas, during my last year of law school, I found many uses for it. It cleaned up formula and ‘spit-up’ and even doubled as an oven mitt more than once. It soon started to look ragged, but the more used it became, the easier it was to grab and clean up yet another disaster.
Now this is a well-traveled dishtowel! After law school, it moved back to Boston with me and then up to Maine, where we three years together. (the previous sentence here seems missing a verb) It is amazing, really, that it made all of the moves! Most of my belongings came and went during that very busy time… The dishtowel did get very little use in Maine since we always ate in a cafeteria and there was little to no kitchen action. It looked horrible at that point, however, I really could not have cared less. I was unhappy in Maine—living in such a rural setting, and I disliked my job. Nothing got much attention in terms of making our home look good. The towel made the move back to Boston (to Watertown) and finally to Wayland. Since its worst days in Maine, it has had a facelift. Doug worked his ‘bleach magic’ and the dishtowel is ready for another round! It will welcome our third child and gets daily use from my daughter Isabelle, who has at least two to three spill accidents a day. It still doubles as an oven mitt and I suspect it will be around for a long time. Now that I’ve actually thought about this towel as something other than a rag, I realize that it has been with me through many changes and stages of my life. Nevertheless it could use a rest!”
—Paula L.
“This dish towel came from Latvia where I was born. In 1993 I was able to visit my childhood homeland and brought it back to remind me of the periwinkle and daisy field, my favorite flowers.
It has adorned my kitchen ever since. I remember and cherish my visit there. I have another, so you need not return it.”
—Zigrīda R.
“This cloth was discovered in storage. My mother had saved it since I was born. She is now in an assisted living facility.”
—Jane S.
“This towel is from Sullivan, Indiana. I found it in my aunt’s cupboard, in a box in 1953.”
—Janet F.