Towel Attachment Issues

The Towels We Keep

I still have the first two towels my mom bought me when I left for college. They’re thin now—somewhere between threadbare and this-could-be-a-washcloth—but they’ve earned their place. I reach for them when I’m dyeing my hair, bathing the dogs, or doing anything else that might leave me emotionally scarred. They’re not the current colors, not stylish, and definitely not “guest towel approved,” but they stay steady. Solid. Loyal. The golden retrievers of my linen world.

And then there’s my linen closet.

Closets, Scents, and Clotheslines

I love a neat linen closet with the same devotion most people give a well-organized pantry. But half the items in there haven’t been used once in this house—and we’ve lived here for 22 years. Some of them didn’t get used in the house before this one either, yet there they sit: two sets of white sheer curtains for mystery windows, mismatched flat sheets from an ancient full-size bed, and boxes of attachments for shavers that vanished years ago. If those shavers ever reappeared, I’d probably just close the drawer and walk away.

Then there’s the smell.

My mom’s linen closet has its own scent—completely unique. It doesn’t smell like her, or like her house, and it definitely doesn’t have that “old person” smell people joke about. It just smells… linen closety. Clean, warm, familiar, and rooted in memory more than anything physical. I could pick that smell out of a lineup. It’s the scent of safety and growing up—steady and comforting, like it’s been holding its breath for you all these years.

My Grandma Is’s linen closet had its own scent too—older but still comforting. And she ruled the clothesline. She hung everything outside: sheets, towels, jeans, dresses… and yes, underwear. All of it waving proudly in the Wisconsin breeze like the most honest laundry parade you’ll ever see.

I’ve always loved the idea of hanging laundry outside the way she did. Romanticized it, even.

But in real life?
I don’t have a clothesline.

So when I drape towels and jeans over the deck railing in the sun, they dry into stiff, hard, scratchy boards. Not soft. Not warm. Not fluttering beautifully in a gentle breeze. Just… boards.

My solution?
Bring them back inside and toss them in the dryer for a few minutes.
That cracks the stiffness and gives them the softness I want.

And speaking of towels, I’ve always had a thing about hand towels.

The Hand Towel System

When I first met my ex-husband’s family in Minneapolis, I fell in love with his mom’s hand-towel system. She kept a big basket of rolled-up hand towels under the sink. You’d wash your hands, grab a fresh towel, dry off, and toss the used one into a separate basket nearby. Simple. Clean. No soggy communal hand towel hanging on a ring. Genius.

I adopted the system immediately.

To this day, my guest bath has a basket filled with every hand towel I’ve ever owned—rolled and ready. Next to it sits a shallow basket for the used ones. I love the simplicity of it. I never have to wonder, “Who used this towel last… and what exactly did they dry?” No thank you. Fresh towel every time.

Family Towel Chaos

And maybe part of why I cling to certain towels is because I’m the only one in this family who seems to care about them. I fully admit it: I have towel attachment issues. Craig will use any towel for anything. I’ve found wads of towels in his workroom—towels he used to sop up some mystery mess and then abandoned on the cement floor for weeks… maybe months… until I rescue them.

The kids aren’t much better. Well—Kadon might respect towels. But Aubrey? She and her friends treat towels like they’re a community commodity. Mine are yours, yours are mine, and as long as every house has some, everything’s fine. That’s how a random purple towel with a burgundy paisley pattern just appeared at our house one day. It’s been here for years, and we still have no idea where it came from. Meanwhile, the thick, expensive “Hello Kitty” towel she got for her birthday? Gone. Vanished. Absorbed into the universe.

Why the Towels Stay

So yes, maybe I keep too many old towels and unused linens.
Maybe my linen closet is half memories, half “why do I still own this?”

But the towels?
The towels stay.
Because sometimes the oldest, shabbiest things are the ones that still show up for you.

Click here to check out other Sidetracked opinions

Click here to listen to the Sidetracked Legacies podcast

Want to create your own legacy? Join the Sidetracked Sisters and start now!

Ever thought about working with a Life Coach? Are you a woman over 50 who feels unfulfilled in your long-term relationship? Lisa can help you rekindle love and joy, and avoid a “gray divorce.” Check out Lisa Hoffman Coaching.

#sidetrackedsisters #sidetrackedlisa #sidetrackedlegacies #legacywriting #legacystories #writeyourownlegacy #LisaHoffmanCoaching