29 June 2021
Earlier this week I was cleaning out the cupboard in the mudroom. Among other things it contains a continually growing collection of cloth bags. Some are ancient, from professional conferences, often dating back 10 or 20 years, with acronyms I have forgotten. Others are souvenirs of a sort, gathered from various travels. A personal favorite is the Big Save bag, from an eponymous store in Hanalei, Hawaii. Others are kept for functional purposes, typically because they have elaborate structures with outside mesh pockets, and inner pockets, and zippered tops. Some, that appear of no import to me, mean something special to my spouse: ‘You discarded that?’
Hence, I was reluctant to discard the unassuming “Cultural Cloth” bag from Wisconsin, even though it was too small to be of real use. I set it aside, and upon showing it to my wife found that it was unknown. But, she suggested, someone had probably given it to us to take something home. Perhaps extras from a meal, or as a wrapper for a small gift like a jar of jam. ‘We should return it!’ she said. With little thought I decided it must be from K & C, and dropped it off at their house, with a book I was passing on to them. They appreciated the book, but disclaimed any knowledge of the bag. And more. Inspecting it more thoroughly than I did, they found a slightly crumpled cloth napkin inside of it. ‘Very nice,’ they said, but not ours. Linen, they diagnosed, which, as C loves linen clothes, is a conclusion I did not dispute.
The bag, with napkin, returned to our house. I set out to determine its owner, a seemingly simple task. The list of friends who would both give us something in a decorative if small cloth bag, and who would be likely to use linen napkins, was short. I contacted each to enquire. Sequentially. I wished to avoid the scenario where two sets of friends would claim the pretty linen napkin. Not that we have dishonest friends, but why seek out trouble? Opinions on the napkin were uniformly positive, but I received no’s from two couples I queried – clearly my fears of acquisitive friends were unjustified – and was ready to contact the third couple, when my wife enquired as to the state of my investigation. I explained. She immediately said, of course it’s not those two, it’s the third set. If you’d asked me, I would have said to contact them first!
Of course, she was right.
This leaves open the question of how the napkin made its way into the bag. I fear it was me. Our circle of friends has a custom of having dinner parties. The parties vary in their formality, but it is not uncommon that there is a big table, nice glassware, and at times a veritable arsenal of forks and knives and spoons. And, of course, napkins. Cloth napkins. With some embarrassment I must admit that, outside of formal dinner parties, I am not much of a napkin user. Of course – if the occasion calls for it – a leaky burrito, a large plate of bolognaise, or some other not entirely structured edible concoction – I may deploy a paper towel. But cloth napkins mean it’s a formal dinner party.
It is not generally recognized that napkins use is not a simple matter. Well, of course, you sit down and take the napkin, unfurl it, and put it in your lap. If that were all there were to it, I would be a perfectly competent napkin user. Where I fall from grace is when I rise from the table. An accomplished napkin-ist would, remembering their napkin, pluck it from their lap, give it a fold or two, and drape it at gracefully at their place while they went on whatever errand caused them to rise. I, however, will have forgotten that I have an unaccustomed piece of cloth tucked into my belt (I’ve learned enough to know that if I don’t tuck it in, it soon ends up on the floor. Apparently I fidget). And so I rise, and the napkin, if not tucked securely, falls to the floor, its movement catching my notice. I pick it up, but rather than pausing to refold the napkin in front of an audience, I scoop it up, tuck it into my pants pocket, and go off on my errand. By the time I’ve returned to table, I’ve forgotten the napkin, and it may well spend the rest of the evening dangling from my pocket, rather than protecting my pants. Fortunately, being beneath the table’s horizon, this infelicity is out of view. As dinner ends, and I rise again, I will typically notice it and free it from its strictures, leaving it at my place.
However, on one evening, I surmise that I must not have noticed it until we were leaving the house and our hosts –being either unobservant or too circumspect to comment – did not manage to retain their napkin. At some point I must have noticed it and, too late, tucked it into the cute cloth bag they’d given us. I hope, that when we return it, they will not enquire how the napkin made it home with us.
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