I’m a weirdo when it comes to kitchen linens. In my former life, dishtowels were something that meant cleaning, washing, drying, and drudgery. In my new life, however, they are fun! I think of cooking as something, now, that I actually enjoy. If you know anything about me, that says a lot. I was the person who, famously said in the late 80s/early 90s, that the “Joy of Cooking” cookbook was an oxymoron. There was nothing joyous about cooking. Now, however, I have found yet another new hobby in my advancing age and I’m loving it.

I wanted new dishtowels. Why? Because my old ones were faded. Because they had stains from kids, from food, and from life. Not that there was anything utility-wise wrong with them, but they certainly do not fit my home. My home is fun. I have fun art on the walls. I have the head of some Roman or Greek guy on my countertop (a bust, if you will). I have French decor in other areas. I love color, but I love tradition. I’m a mix of styles, so to speak.

So, yesterday, when I did my first real houseclean EVER without having any kids at home (YEAH! WOOHOO! OMG!!!), I took the time to look around and see things that didn’t make me happy. If I see something that doesn’t make me happy, I’m tossing it. That’s the bottom line.

The dishtowels, due to their age and stain-worthiness, were in the line of fire. So were the “white” napkins that a now a light tan color, from many years of use and abuse. Gone, too.

The Goodwill will love me after this week.

There are other things that will go, too. It’s not about the stuff. It’s really not. It’s about finally, after 26 years, being able to have what I want, in my home, without anyone else telling me that I can’t, without it being broken the day I put it on the counter, without it being stained the moment it’s used, and without it being looked at with disdain. The latter I really no longer give two flies about. Frankly, if you don’t like my house or my decor, then don’t bother coming over.

I also though a lot about a certain event that happened in the past week. I wondered why it happened the way it did. Was it from envy? Jealousy? Thinking we did something wrong? After thinking about it for at least an hour twice this week, I’ve decided I don’t give two flies about it, either. If you are envrious or jealous, then you are no longer my friend and I don’t have to be around you. Goes for family, too.

So, as I sit here, about to have dinner and wine with my Sweetie, on a Sunday night after a great day of doing almost nothing (except work for about 3 hours on client matters), I am happy. Truly happy. At ease in my own skin. Finally.

It’s been a long, long time coming here to meet you.