Last night I received one of the strangest and loveliest compliments I've ever heard.
My beloved daughter-in-law, after coming over loaded with groceries, cooking and serving dinner, and cleaning up the kitchen, said to me "I love coming over here. It kind of reminds me of my grandmother's house. It smells so good, like... like a house full of neatly folded textiles!"
What character flaw has made me compulsive about the sheets and towels and sweaters and fabric and so laissez-faire about everything else?
I don't know, but there it is. Maybe that should go on my tombstone -- HER TEXTILES WERE ALWAYS NEATLY FOLDED. You could be remembered for worse.