Three.

I love napkins. And tablecloths. I can’t help it, I love all table linens ironed and matching and sitting clean and ready for duty on a table. The right tablecloth makes me want to pull out my best dishes and glasses, set the table prettily and create something suitable to serve for dinner.

Last night at dinner my mom laid the table with a tablecloth and napkins my grandmother had embroidered. I exclaimed when I saw them and running my fingers over the cloth lightly told her again how beautiful I thought they were. Those are your genes at work, she said, laughing. Her tablecloths are always printed or embroidered with brightly coloured flowers.

My favourite linens are the ones I remember from my childhood. Napkins and napkin holders with little clasps my mom made and embroidered each of our names onto, a set of white napkins printed with tiny yellow flowers she fashioned into a tablecloth by binding them with detailed crochet work, heavy cotton linens. I have one of her old, worn tablecloths and use it to wrap the lettuce in after I’ve washed it.

I still use tablecloths and cloth napkins at home. And I still like ironing them and all my tea towels while I am watching TV in the evening. There’s something about that stack of linens piling up sharply folded and smelling of clean and steam that satisfies me. When the pile is done I bring it downstairs to the kitchen so I can put everything away in the linen drawer first thing in the morning. Then I’m ready for bed.