|Home is Where the Dishcloths Are
Burlington, Vermont, 2013
She and Joyce always met for lunch. Joyce always treated. Both were too polite to mention why.
She knew real estate was how Joyce made her money. But she felt building community was Joyce's art. Nurturing the needy. Staying in touch. Matchmaking.
She owed Joyce for much more than the decades of lunches. Her husband, for example. A prince among men. Their daughters, full of spirit and charm. The house Joyce discovered for them, their cozy harbor.
She tried to repay Joyce. Polite cards acknowledged the cookies she baked from a family recipe. A cutting she sliced from a prized orchid. A lacy scarf she knit in a luxury fiber.
Then one day, over their salads, both chose spinach with goat cheese, the subject unexpectedly switched to kitchens.
"Doesn't everyone love dishcloths," Joyce quipped.
Who knew that Joyce H. Caulfield, real estate queen, fancied the humble dishcloth?
She chose the colors Joyce often wore. She experimented with stitches. Yarns. She couldn't wait for their next lunch. So she mailed her what she hoped was an artful grouping of utilitarian beauty.
Would Joyce like them as much as she liked making them? Loved making them. She waited for the card her friend was sure to send. And when it arrived, she read it over and over again.
"They bring me joy," wrote Joyce. "Every day I use my treasured dishcloths and think of wonderful you."
A tale by Agnes Honor Auden.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is pure coincidental.
Agnes Honor Auden is a life-long yarn lover. She enjoys spinning tales about her favorite yarns and patterns. She lives in a small cottage by the sea where inland and water birds stop by her front porch to gather snips and strands of her violet wool for their nests.