towel rack

yeah, that's right. this is a whole blog entry on a towel rack and there's nothing you can do about it and don't think you need to share any opinion on how bare the walls are in the photos. getting things framed isn't as easy as it used to be. you don't think it's such a good idea, a whole entry on a towel rack, but that's because the towel rack in your house is boring. you probably didn't choose it yourself and if you did, you chose from three or four different racks in home depot or something and your choice was more about what would match something else in the room or what was the right size. you didn't choose any sort of gloriousness. you wish you could. this sort of choice is rare in the realm of towel racks. there's no plastic.

we have a bathroom on the second floor of an old bungalow and it lives up under the eave of the house, so that half of the room is really just for show, not usable, because the roof slopes down and there's no standing in that part. floor space, sure, but not for walking around on. because the people who made choices about the large fixtures (bath tub, sink, toilet) in the bathroom put them up against the taller walls so folks wouldn't have to hunch over while taking a shower or bump their heads every time they need to pee, there's not much space for hanging towels. not much at all. in fact, the folks who put all that other stuff in just left a crappy towel rack in plastic under the sink. they didn't know where to put it, either.

this got me thinking. i remember those metal swing arm towel racks for dishtowels in kitchens. i liked those things as a kid and wouldn't mind having one in my kitchen now but they're hard to come by. paper towels and all. still, a person can dream. so i imagined kitchens with cheerfully draped dish towels near sunny kitchen sinks. i did. and one day the sweetie and i were wandering around an antique store after a very sassy lunch at brooks' bbq and he said, "there's that thing you keep talking about!" i married him for his articulateness, his skill with language. so i stared right at where he was pointing and saw nothing that looked like i'd been talking about it. ribs. some sort of horribly misshapen wooden umbrella. i had no idea what he was trying to point out. "the towel thing," he said and reached out to touch it. and he was right. but it wasn't the little metal swing arm towel rack i'd dreamed of sharing my sunny kitchen with. it was an ancient thing. a dinosaur of towel drying. all wooden except for the seven hooks and seven eyes. a towel rack, indeed, but for bath towels. not like any other towel rack i'd ever seen in anyone's house. not at all. i wanted it. i wanted it more than anyone should want an implement of bath towel drying. i really did. but we left the shop without it. there was a bit of mold on the backing and i am not about to bring mold into a house on purpose. besides, i felt like my overwhelming desire to have the thing might be clouding my judgment.

then, this weekend, we were back up that way mostly because i couldn't stop talking about the towel rack. do you think i could fix it? could i clean the mold off? maybe i could sand it down and then use it. the sweetie got sick of this i suppose and simply drove the thirty or so miles up to the shop and we bought it, along with a workbook on space. we got it home and the sweetie suggested sanding. i got a sanding block and started. goodbye mold. goodbye paint. underneath the old white paint there was something that looked like pepto bismol. pinky pink. i kept sanding until all the mold was gone. i wasn't sure. we bought paint. yellow. number 2 pencil is the exact color. a good color for a teacher. and i was ready to paint and the sweetie came out and said, "that looks nice." what? no paint? no. he thought it looked perfect. just right. those shabby chic folks should hire me. i can make something look ancient in ten minutes.

so we got everything smoothed and ready and put it in the bathroom. it's simple, really. a flat bit of wood with another bit of wood perpendicular. seven little hooks hang from the underside of the second bit of wood like tiny bats. a rod sits just below with seven long slats, the smoothest wood in the world, each with an eye at the top. and you pull up one of the slats and loop the eye over the hook and you have a place to dry your towel. you can do this six more times. and it looks like a carnival or a church or something. which is why this is a whole entry on one towel rack. and why, although i rarely brag about things i own, i am pleased to say that my towel rack is the best in the world and you are currently at least slightly jealous, even if you don't yet feel it.