EllynAnne Geisel - The Kitchen Linens Book: Using, Sharing, and Cherishing the Fabrics of Our Daily Lives

TO MY way of thinking, a tablecloth is where all that defines us as family begins.

Just think for a minute about what takes place on and around the kitchen or dining room table. Its where all our family dramas, major and minor, tend to unfold. Its where we prop our elbows and talk, or sit up straight and dine. Its where we sort through the mail, dash off a note, make a to-do list, or chat on the phone with a friend. Its where the day begins and often ends, and where all that occurs in between gets discussed and revisited.

Personally, I love the whole ritual of laying out a freshly laundered cloth. I love the sensation of putting it down and patting it out. In that simple motion I feel connected to all the women before me, all the wives and mothers and homemakers who, like me, took delight in setting out a good meal or gathering loved ones around. I like to layer my cloths, choosing them with an eye to startling mixes of color and pattern and texture. Its as though Im setting a stage, one with infinite dramatic possibilities for an ever-changing cast of characters.

My vintage kitchen linens, like my aprons, speak of past generations, but they also inspire me to think of future gatherings. Its an ongoing dialogue, really: they have stories to tell and I have chapters to add. Whenever Im prowling my favorite haunts for secondhand finds, I listen for this conversation. The hand towel or napkin or tablecloth or hot pad that has the most to say is invariably the one I buy.

Its possible my love for kitchen linens stems from having so few as I was growing up. We were a large family, and the eight of us ate at a pecan-wood dining table. It was one of those furniture sets from the 1950s, Pledged within an inch of its life. Tablecloths were only for holidays, to my mothers way of thinking. I dont fault her for thinking that way. Opera inspired my mother, and classical piano sonatas. Not table linens.

Although I didnt inherit any cloths from my mother, I did come by a wonderful assortment from my mother-in-law. Hanks mother came from Germany and, along with Hummels, she collected cloth: bright tablecloths and fine damask and linen napkins and dish towels embroidered or crocheted along the edges. Shed set even her dinette in cloth, including the napkins. Which is at odds with who she was, in many respects: She and Hanks father lived very frugally, after immigrating to America. They saved everything for Hanks future, doing with less so that he could one day have more. If there hadnt been the war, and she hadnt had to escape her country and leave behind all that was dear and familiar, who knows who she would have become? I like to think that there was a hidden side of her, more colorful, lighter in step, because thats what I glimpse when I look at her linens.

Her collection may well have sparked my passion for all things cloth. More to the point, however, it was her daily use of her linens that influenced how I enjoy my own collection. And with my environmental awareness heightened, Im practicing a less wasteful lifestyle by replacing paper goods with those of vintage cloth.