I was digging through our rag bag the other day. I was looking for something to dry off the dog with before letting her back in the house after watering the garden.

Our Katie loves to help water the garden. She stands on the other side and barks up a storm for me to direct the hose her way. If it's a tight enough stream she tries to bite it off. Of course she ends up near soaked to the bone and her feet caked with mud. I always hose her feet off when we get back to the house, then dry her off before letting her back into the house. If not, Katie and I would both be sleeping outside for tracking up Sue's floors.

The rag bag we keep is for all those odds and ends of old towels and dish cloths that have seen better days, and come in handy for odd jobs such as drying off Katie's feet. The rag I pulled out was something I had almost forgotten all about. It was the last of the towels I bought when I first left home to live on my own some thirty-seven years ago.

I still remember when I bought it; it was one of a set with all the matching this and that. They were a pale olive green and golden yellow in an Aztec Sun-God design. I guess you could say they were a bit garish; my taste has changed greatly the past thirty-seven years and I would not buy them again today even if I could find them. When I bought them I really didn't give much thought to the design as much as I did to their lush softness. They were extremely plush and very well made, even if they were ugly. I found them on a discount table. They were on sale, and you can probably guess why.

Here it was, the last tattered towel from my very first apartment. The very first towel I ever bought for the very first time I was on my own. My bachelor days in Pennsylvania, right after landing my first job and buying my first new car. I had no idea what the hell I was doing! How I survived those first few years is a mystery to me, but I did. I learned to do all the things we guys take for granted while we are living at home and have a mom to take care of us.

One of the things I learned was you can only live in a place so long before it needs cleaning and the laundry must be done. I already knew how to cook, sort of, having worked as a cook while going to school, but I didn't know anything about doing the laundry. Everything I owned turned pink after my first attempt. That is when I learned never to throw a crimson blanket in with the rest of the clothing, especially the whites! I taught myself to iron, with only a few scorch marks on the clothing, or myself. I also learned the stain I managed to put in the carpet can be taken care of quite nicely with a little creative rearranging of the furniture.

That was just before I got the itch and left for California. I packed what little I actually owned into the trunk of my '67 Firebird and just took off. I think I left to "find myself." Back in the '60s finding yourself seemed to be the important thing to do. Nobody told you just how to do it, but getting away from everyone you knew was the recommended first step. After that you were on your own, and I think that was the whole point; to be on your own.

I didn’t have an exact destination in mind, I just went, and the towels went with me. The towels and I traveled all across the country and up and down the west coast before ending up in the state of Washington. Both the towels and I got a good workout when I landed a job as a lumberjack. After six months I did find out one thing in Washington, if I was going to be myself, I knew damn well it wasn’t going to be as a lumberjack!

I left Washington and arrived back home just in time to meet Sue, and we married in September of '69. When Sue moved in with me the only things I had were a couple old pots and pans, a few mismatched cups and plates, and my towels.

Sue set about making our place a home, and I guess I lost track of both time and the towels. Over the years we must have had a few dozen sets of towels, but none were ever as plush as that very first set. What ever happened to the others I don't remember, I didn't give them any thought until that moment. When I was holding that last tattered old towel; the very last of the first towels I had bought all those years ago.

C.C.Keiser

7/9/03