Linens

Linens, starch, lavendar linen spray, new ribbons- eggshell blue, pinks, greens. Once a year I pull everything out of my buffet and linen armoire. I set up my ironing board and small fan, and plug in the laptop. As the music begins to play, the mood is set."Anne of Green Gables", a glass of sweet tea, and stacks of matching napkins tied with sweet ribbons." These are the napkins painted by Edna Thbaraj for Great Aunt Rema to match her violet dishes", I share with my daughters. "This is the tablecloth I bought at the Tuesday market along the Arno River in Florence. I was with Joyce Shackelford and she helped translate for me. The merchant said I was "simpatico" so he sold it to me for only 25,000 lire. I think he loved you three little ones and was just being kind." Each stack has a memory. Meals shared with those who have gone on. The red cloth that covered the funeral cart in Italy for dear Roberto Masini, that now graces our table each holiday.A new South African cloth brought by our most recent guest, Jean Lambert as she is here preparing for her daughters' upcoming marriage. Everything smooth, starched, neat. No loose ends. For the rest of the year, each time I get out a set of sheets to make the beds for a new guest, I make a new memory. Each tablecloth as it is refolded has a story to tell about the conversations that were shared above it.For two or three days a year I get a chance to reminesce and be grateful. So many lives have touched ours. How blessed we have been.