Bag the Rags!

One of my favorite possessions is an old mesh bag of rags. The bag itself belonged my grandmother, whom I called Mimi. My mom has childhood memories of when Mimi took this bag with her to the grocery store to carry home her purchases.

Eventually, this forerunner of today's cloth shopping bags became the household "rag bag." It collected remnants of dingy bath towels and threadbare nightgowns (Mimi never got rid of anything until it had outlived its usefulness.) that would be reused to dust the house or wax the car. I discovered the rag bag in a closet in Mimi's apartment after she passed away and took it as my own.

I had my own memories of some of the articles those rags were taken from. Others were from WAY before my time, but they all had her smell, her softness, and I considered the bag to be a sacred relic. My husband likes to tease me about the time I got mad at him for using some of Mimi's rags to clean up a greasy mess after working on the car. It's true. I was and still am very protective of those rags.

I am a bit more lenient now, though. I've since added my own contributions to the bag: stained baby burp cloths, swatches cut from tattered pajama pants, and so on. I use these rags to clean house and wipe up the numerous messes and spills that come with having three little boys. And I always, ALWAYS wash them after I use them and return them to the bag so I can clean up the next mess.

At the bottom of the bag, however, remain Mimi's remnants. They are not to be touched, for they serve as an inspiration to me---to use well the things I have and, when possible, to repurpose the things I no longer need.