Stuff: Goodbye, Georgia Towel

My Georgian towel. May 2019.

This towel looks homely, doesn't it? Colors dimmed and dull, threads worn, edges frayed? The colors, even when they were fresh, never fashionable?

It's not a soft towel, and that's why I favored it, because its ridged texture felt like a luxe exfoliating cloth on my skin after a shower. It's the towel of hearty Svans of the Caucasus Mountains.

I brought this towel back from Georgia, the result of a swap of towels with my hostess in Old Rustavi, Nely. I gave her one of my softer, thick towels in exchange for this thin, austere one, because I'd become so fond of it.

After eight happy years with my towel of the Caucasus, yesterday was the day that I cut it into rectangles so I could re-purpose it into cleaning rags.

I'll toss it away, bit by bit, after I distribute some of its Georgian DNA, accompanied by scouring powder or bleachy spray, over my kitchen and bathroom surfaces in the Sonoran Desert, far from the Black Sea.

An honorable end to its years of service to softer humanoid surfaces.

My Georgian towel. May 2019.