I almost threw away my old lace napkins.

They have rust stains on them. In order to cover the stains, I threw them in a pot of green dye and boiled them. The dye was not a success. The napkins all came out in slightly varying shades of green, and the rust stains -- while less noticeable -- were still there. I used them once and was self-conscious the whole time.

"People are going to think I didn't wash the napkins!" I worried. But I washed them again, ironed them and kept them anyway.

Then, over the holidays, I had the whole family over. I eyed the old green napkins.

They have what appears to be handmade lace around the edges and a crocheted medallion in one corner. They are a generous size and made of good, sturdy cotton. They are serviceable napkins in every way except for the small spots that appear on almost every one of them.

"Not one person in 10 can see those spots!" my husband, Peter, says when I tell him I'm thinking of throwing out the old napkins.

(There are 12 napkins so, even if Peter is right, that still means one person might notice and think, "Did she wash these napkins?")

But I used them anyway. I don't think anyone noticed. Then I washed them again and looked at them before I ironed them. The stains were just as noticeable. The shades of green are no more uniform.

And I realized I kind of liked them.

I have no idea where these napkins came from. I found them when I was cleaning out my barn, preparing to sell my old farmhouse years ago. They are not family heirlooms. I have to assume I picked them up at a garage sale somewhere. I probably didn't look at them closely until I got home, saw the rust stains on them and tucked them away -- unsure from the very beginning whether or not I should keep them.

I wonder who made them. It was a lot of work. I wonder where the rust stains came from. That must have been disappointing for whoever owned them. I'm guessing it happened many years ago. And here I am, still using them. And I do like them.

Things don't have to be perfect. That's what I'm finally coming to accept.

My own inability to reach perfection was an ongoing source of frustration for decades until I reconciled myself to the fact that I was, in fact, good enough. Good enough was a laudable goal. And these napkins, while they would never be featured on any magazine cover, are good enough -- more than adequate, in fact -- for the celebrations I host, which will also not be perfect, but hopefully good enough for everyone in attendance.

It is nice to use something that is old and loved and imperfect.

I look at these napkins and imagine the life they must have had when they were new. Likely they were a wedding present to somebody a very long time ago. They were used for festive gatherings I cannot imagine by people I never knew and maybe just a little of that history is left, maybe a little of that laughter remains, somewhere in their imperfections.

I ironed the old napkins. I folded them. I put them in the drawer for another use at another celebration with different people -- of whom, perhaps, one in 10 might wonder about the rust stains, now camouflaged with green dye.

They still have a purpose -- imperfect as they are. And I take inspiration from that.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos and other news can be found at CarrieClasson.com.

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"Aren't you the cutest dog?" I asked the chubby brindle pit bull mix walking down the sidewalk.

Objectively, she was not the cutest dog, I suppose. But there is no such thing as an ugly dog, as we all know. She was wearing a brand-new jacket with colorful pockets and a hood and, to top it off, had matching booties. She looked a little self-conscious -- as we all are when we get dressed up for the first time in a while -- and I thought she could use a little reassurance.

"I wasn't sure she would wear the booties," her owner confessed.

The dog looked at me seriously, as if she understood. The booties might be a bridge too far, even on a very cold day. But this barrel-shaped brindle pup was dancing on the cold pavement, happy to meet me, booties all but forgotten.

"She loves meeting new people," her owner explained, unnecessarily.

I love seeing the dogs in the winter.

Of course, this is the time of year that long-haired dogs are finally getting comfortable. They stroll at a leisurely pace. They roll in the snow. They walk with their noses under the snow, sniffing the mysterious world beneath the surface. They scoop up big mouthfuls of snow as they go, cruising along with their tongues firmly inside their mouths for the first time in months. They are utterly at home in the snow, as if the warm months of the past were an aberration and we are now back to normal.

But the short-haired dogs suffer. They shiver and hop from one foot to the other and look as if the whole notion of taking a walk in these temperatures was neither their idea nor something they approved of. Their owners decide that what they need is a jacket and, usually, the jacket is a mixed success.

The little dogs still seem cold, even in their jackets. I saw a greyhound with a jacket over a sweater. He didn't look cold, but he looked deeply embarrassed. I've seen dogs in Santa costumes and fancy hand-knitted Guatemalan sweaters and expensive gear that looked like it was designed for trekking up Mount Everest. None of the jackets look as if they fit very well. They are all held on with straps and clips and usually are drifting to one side or the other, or threatening to come off entirely. The booties almost never stay on long.

Just down the block, I met a short-haired terrier walking with a man I chat with regularly. The terrier was not in a jacket and, when he saw me coming, I could see the pleading in his eyes. "Please do not make my owner stop and talk!" I tried not to talk too long as the terrier hopped from one cold paw to the other and shivered disapprovingly.

"He needs a jacket!" I said to the terrier's owner, but I could tell neither owner nor terrier was crazy about the idea.

Which is why the brindle pit bull's ensemble was so impressive.

She looked as if she was planning to model it in a dog catalog. Her slightly pudgy frame filled out the jacket and kept it in place. Her little booties kept her off the cold snow and sharp sand and biting salt. She was perfectly decked out and, I suspect, she had an idea of exactly how adorable she was.

"You are the cutest dog in town!" I announced. The stubby dog was pleased. Her owner was proud. And -- at that moment -- I think it might almost have been true.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos from the column can be found at CarrieClasson.com.

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A couple of days ago, a friend of mine posted something written by a friend of his on Facebook. This is what she had to say:

“I’ve been contemplating what I really miss in life. Why do I feel this empty space? I have not felt completely full in a very long time. I miss the outdoors ... a good hike, fishing or camping. No radio, cellphone, TV, movies or internet. Just the birds, the river running ... just the sound of crickets.

“I miss a good, deep, solid conversation about life, God and love. All the things that truly matter! The world has changed so much with technology that we don’t even know each other anymore. We don’t have time for each other anymore. You turn on the evening news and all you hear is bad news. Shootings and crime have skyrocketed, and it’s become the norm.

“We can no longer trust emails or use our debit cards without worry of scams or fraud. We can no longer leave a door unlocked or a window open.

“I miss the world I grew up in. Where people had time for each other. Where conversations mattered. Where there was respect for each other. When people knew what was right and wrong. Sometimes I honestly want to throw my cell phone out the window but realize I have to use it to contact the ones I love.

“This new world has swallowed us up and there is not a damn thing we can do about it. Am I the only one who ever feels this way?

“Signed,

“Krissy”

I don’t know Krissy, but I wrote a letter to her anyway. This is what I said:

“Dear Krissy,

“I think you should pull your tent out of storage and go camping this week. Unless you live up north. Then you might go snowshoeing in the woods. That’s fun, too.

“Shootings and crime have not skyrocketed -- although reporting of them has. If you look at the statistics, you are actually far less likely to come to a violent end or die of disease than at any time in human history.

“But it does not sound like you are enjoying your smartphone. Maybe you should get a simple phone instead. They cost less, and you can still make phone calls. And use a credit card for online purchases instead of a debit card. Then you don’t need to worry so much.

“Meaningful conversations are there to be had. Sometimes you have to start them. I think you made an excellent start with this post. Maybe try again, but this time at your kitchen table with a friend and a cup of coffee.

“Krissy, you sound anxious, and I’m sorry. The world has not swallowed you. Meditation helps. Exercise helps. Being clear on your purpose in the world and helping others helps a lot. Life has never been perfect for anyone. But we have never had anywhere near as many years as we now get to enjoy life -- or not. It’s your choice. And, yes, you can do something about it.

“All the best,

“Carrie”

As I said, I don’t know Krissy. I don’t suppose she read what I wrote, and, if she did, I’m not sure she would care. We get invested in our beliefs, even if they aren’t making us happy.

But I wanted to tell her that every one of us gets frustrated and discouraged and sometimes feels things are going down the tubes. I wanted to tell her she was not alone.

And I wanted to wish her a happier New Year.

Till next time,

Carrie

Photos from the column can be found at CarrieClasson.com.

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