where there's smoke

I discovered this week that my flat has no smoke detectors. Huh.

Last night, while I was putting on the remains of a tomato and ground chicken pasta sauce to heat, I nudged the pan of brownies out of the way. (A student was moving to Switzerland and we had brownies to say goodbye. There were three left...) The pan was covered with a tea towel, aluminum foil and saran wrap being luxury items here.

I love things with a history. My sugar bowl is art decco. My tablecloth is from a Christmas in Kiev. I have bits of Broadway and Palace Square as paperweights and coasters. My dishtowels are vintage--and so soft from years of washing. The cotton feels like silk, but they're still a nice weight. They're a cheerful, homey, familiar touch in my kitchen-that-is-not-mine.

The newest bit of tea towel history--my favorite blue checked one has, as you've guessed by the brilliant foreshadowing, literally, gone up in smoke. I even remember thinking when I turned on the gas under the pasta sauce that the brownies were a little close to the flame. I just didn't nudge them far enough. Was it laziness or overconfidence that had me nudging instead of putting them on top of the microwave? Not sure. Perhaps both.

Obviously, as this is a post about tea towels, there's not much new to report here. Go ahead--make me feel better by offering a pithy comment on THIS one! ;>