But I reacted to this gift with puzzlement, not offense. "What is this for?" I wondered. She really wasn't one to bring gifts at every visit, which was fine. And it wasn't my birthday, nor was it Christmas.
"Because," she said, "sometimes, all you need is new kitchen towels." The implication was that there was a lot of power in fresh kitchen towels. She was right. The faded rags we were using to dry hands and dishes got relegated to the laundry room rag shelf, and the new cloths gave the kitchen a bit of pizzazz. I was surprised, not only by the effect of such a simple change, but by my mother's attitude.
This was the woman who taught us all to "make do." She made many of the clothes I wore in elementary school, as well as her own garments (she was a very talented seamstress). She could feed a hungry family of six on a shoestring budget, and our diet was varied and healthy. She could work magic with leftovers, created hand-made ornaments to give to teachers and friends, and was generally frugal. I was carrying on the tradition; I thought that being able to see through a dishrag was a point of pride, not shame! And, if I could still wear things I'd owned for 10 years, well, that STILL is a point of pride (or a sign that those stretched out clothes need to be replaced, but I just don't accept that).
Mom also began to encourage replacing other belongings. "Oh, just get a new one," she said of this or that. Not big stuff, but, you know, kitchen towels! Her circumstances had changed, and her perspective had definitely changed since I'd lived with her and four other humans. She was comfortably retired. She was not wealthy, but living in a home that was paid for, and with enough financial cushion for foreign travel. And, apparently, she no longer felt it necessary to "make do."
But, she wasn't extravagant. What she showed me is that sometimes, it is the little things that can lift us, and we don't need to over-do it to brighten our corner of the world.
I still take pride in making do. At the time of this writing, I've spent two-and-a-half months living like I'm camping. My temporary residence is much more comfortable than a tent, but I've only got the clothing I could fit into one suitcase (one very full suitcase). I'm pleased that the weather remains as it was at the end of June. I cook in a kitchenette only slightly larger than the one in our r.v., and all of the music and papers I'm accumulating in new jobs are being filed in a paper bag. We wisely brought along our PRINTER (SUCH a smart decision) and a file box of important papers. The summation of our lives could be contained in the back of our Grand Cherokee.
For the entirety of our marriage, we've "made do" with the couch my husband bought when he graduated college more than 35 years ago, the K-Mart shelves that bow recklessly, the bath towels that show signs of laundry mishaps. I'm glad we don't whine about what we don't have: we've been blessed with a lot, and the depression-era babies who became our parents taught us to strategize and minimize. (Mostly. I must confess that when it comes to musical instruments, we have a "go-for-broke" attitude!)
But, when we move into the new house, I think I'll get some new bath towels. Don't need kitchen towels: the ones I have aren't yet thin enough to read through.
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