Human beings tend to save their best for the people they know least, and show those closest to them their worst. It's sort of a backhanded compliment, I guess, because you know that the people you love, and who love you, will put up with you, no matter how badly behaved you might be. [Sorry to disappoint, but this one is not about the ex. I have to dole out those stories in small doses, so as not to cause mass hysteria.]
I don't know how you grew up, but in rural Minnesota where I was a kid, cleanliness was not next to Godliness; that place is reserved for the thrifty. My mother was, and is, the thriftiest person I have ever known. She was a Depression child, and like most people who grew up in that hard time, she learned to make use of whatever was at hand, rather than count on being able to buy new. We used and reused everything. She was green before it was fashionable - recycling was a way of life, not a political statement.
If you were to go on a scavenger hunt at my mother's house, you would certainly find whatever you were seeking, because she saves everything. And I do mean everything. My mother, I should add, is a genuine saint, role model extraordinaire, you should meet her if you haven't, because then you would understand why I used up all my good luck in life landing in her lap, although I'm not so sure that was a two way street, because I've been a lot more trouble than I am worth, but that's another story.... Where was I?
Oh ya. My mother saves everything. We darned socks and stitched up worn out underwear, because it still had some use left. She has balls of string, any number of safety pins and paper clips, has every pen that she has ever been given, a drawer full of twist ties (those little paper and wire twisty things that come in every single package of plastic trash bags), the world's largest collection of plastic bread bags, and my personal favorite, tin foil that has been washed and folded up for reuse. Waste is anathema to my mom, one of the seven deadly sins. Being a Lutheran, I don't really know what the rest of them are, I admit, but I'd be willing to bet the Vatican doesn't worry about waste. However....
As a kid, it was not unusual to walk into the kitchen and see a few bread bags turned inside out and hanging over the faucet or standing up on the stove. Mom was just replenishing her supply, upgrading from the sticky ones in the drawer. I am not sure what happened to the ones that they were replacing, but I have memories of digging through that drawer, pulling out folded bag after folded bag, peeling them apart to find one that wasn't all sticky on the inside, and then whatever you put in them would smell like bread. She would wash her gently used tin foil with soap and water while doing dishes and leave it standing to drip dry in the "clean" side of the sink, so that the next time we needed to line a pan or the burner on the stove, she wouldn't have to take new. Now that I'm an adult and see how much that stuff costs, I see the point, and it's not nearly as funny as it was when I was a kid. Although I do still occasionally giggle, I can't lie.
My mom taught me to use soap to the last sliver, melting it onto a new bar, so as not to waste a micron. We cut open the end of the toothpaste tube to scrape out the final brushful, and she would use a little wand to get every last ounce of lipstick out of the bottom of the tube. She cut buttons and zippers out of clothing that had gotten so worn even she couldn't patch it any more. You would be surprised how many times I have matched a missing button from her splendid collection. It's a treasure trove, not only of buttons, but old memories, which come flooding back when you see a button from an old outfit long forgotten.
All this saving and scrimping did not mean that my mother was without nice things, however. Indeed, I believe she would argue that it was because she was willing to save and reuse that she was able to have the nice things she has. And among the special things are company towels.
We had towels, of course, that we used for "every day." They were not threadbare, we didn't suffer, although they may have the occasional snag or pull. Then she had some very special towels, never to be touched by the likes of me or any other child, which she saved especially for company. When the company towels came out, I knew someone really important and unrelated was expected, because those very special towels were only put out for people I didn't know well. They were soft and new and beautiful, edged with lace or special decorative touches.
There is a protocol with company towels, one that my own children and their friends seem not to have learned. Everyone knew the drill when I was growing up, of course, it was standard behavior. Everyone had company towels for guests, and it was part of potty training, I think, to learn about their significance.
The most important thing to know about company towels is that they were Never Used. That's right. They were there to look pretty, a decoration, but not to be touched. Because then you would have to wash them, and they wouldn't be pretty any more, and then they would no longer be company towels. Once you had ruined a company towel, your mother would see you for the disgrace you were, and the dreadful words would be uttered, "Well, I guess now we will have to use it for everyday, because it's not good enough for company any more." Augh.
The protocol extended to other people's towels as well, of course, and it's a habit I cannot seem to break even now, when I am the company. Upon entering the bathroom in any one's home, the first thing I do is scope out the towel situation. If I see a suspiciously pristine piece of fabric hanging on the bar, a frantic search for the "real" towel hanging behind the door or the shower curtain will ensue, because I am not one to disgrace the family. If I don't find one, rest assured I will exit with wet hands before I will ruin your beautiful decoration!
As a child, I was always a little offended that I wasn't allowed to touch the company towels. I saw it as an insult, almost, like I wasn't important enough to partake in the best of life's offerings. As an adult, I have realized I had that backwards. While you are being celebrated as a special guest with the company towels, and that is certainly no insult, the real honor comes when you find the everyday family item hanging there. You have gone behind the facade to the real family, and you are invited to be a part of it.
You know how when you are a kid, you always say, "I'm never going to do this or that when I grow up." Well, one of the things I said was that I would never have company towels, because it always seemed silly to me to save the best for someone who would never really arrive. There is nothing wrong with having company towels, of course, it's a nice way of honoring your guests. But for me, I saw it as a way of honoring my family. I want everyone who comes to my home to feel like they belong, like they are a part of the family, an insider.
Of course, having said that, I do have one set of towels that no one is allowed to use, much to my children's disgust. I tried to explain that they are decorations, themed to match the spirit of the space, too pretty to use. They just think I'm silly, but I like to think with age comes wisdom, and I know more than they do.
Recently, when I was home visiting my mom, (going to visit my mom is always going home, regardless of how old I am or where I live now,) she mentioned that she had new towels hanging in my bathroom, and that I should use them. WHAT???? I tried Mom, I really did. But in the end, I had to take them down and put them in the cupboard, because it felt wrong. You cannot use company towels in your mother's house, because wherever she is, you are home.
