My Mother’s Dish Towels

Before I married in November 1977, my mother gave me six dish towels. “Here,” she said. “I received a dozen of these when I was married, and I want you to have some.” She and my father married in June 1955. The towels had had some use, but I think my mother mostly kept them aside, not wanting to wear them out.

All the towels had Sunbonnet Girl appliques made from pieces of my mother’s old dresses, dresses she wore in high school and college. Her mother, my Nanny Winnie, made the towels for her.

Nanny Winnie was quite a seamstress in her younger years, and she made many of my mother’s clothes, up through my mother’s high school and college years. She made these dresses for her daughter, then turned the scraps into Sunbonnet Girl appliques. Sunbonnet Girls (also known as Sunbonnet Sue) were popular in the 1950s, and date back at least to the start of the twentieth century. The Internet still offers patterns that use them.

My mother graduated from high school in 1951, and from college in 1955. I remember her wearing some of the clothes that these scraps came from (my recollections date back to 1958). And other pieces of these same materials were in the basket of scraps that Nanny Winnie and I played with—she and I sewed little outfits for a doll I called “Sewing Doll.” I wasn’t very imaginative in naming my dolls.

Because of the associations I have of my mother wearing these fabrics and of sewing with my grandmother, I treasure these dish towels. Over the years, I used some of the towels. But after I had children, I put four of the six towels aside. I decided that when my children were grown, I would give them the remaining towels. I kept using the two towels that had pieces of dresses I remembered.

In October 2019, my son got married. For Christmas 2019, I gave him and his wife two of the dish towels, and I sent the other two to my daughter.

I’ve continued using the two towels I kept for myself. Of course, my husband and I have other dish towels, but I try to use these most of the time, because then I remember my mother whenever I dry dishes. (There isn’t much else that’s nice about that chore.)

The other day I noticed one of the dish towels had several holes—the one with my favorite dress piece. I almost cried. I’m thankful that the holes aren’t near the Sunbonnet Girl applique, but still, the towel is becoming a rag.

Then I realized—these towels were made sixty-six years ago. The dress appliques are probably seventy years old or older. They’ve been used. Their cotton is righteously frayed. If the towels were human, they’d be on Medicare. Perhaps they’ve earned retirement.

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My children can do what they want with the towels I’ve given them. After all, the sentimentality of these things dissipates with each generation. When we moved, I gave away many things from my grandmother (including the Prussian tea set she probably obtained from an even older generation). There will be no reason for my children to keep ragged dish towels.

I have set aside the dish towel with the holes. The other is still in service.

At some point, perhaps I will cut out the Sunbonnet Girl appliques and save those scraps of my mother’s dresses. I don’t know what I’ll do with them. Perhaps I will make pillow covers, or frame them as wall hangings. No one other than me now remembers my mother wearing these dresses, but I do, and I won’t be able to throw them out.

I know my kids will throw them out when I am gone, or even before, but I will keep them as long as I can.

What do you hang onto, even though it’s worn out?