Life has felt all churned up lately and I haven’t blogged all summer and every time I think about sitting down to work on something new my mind circles a seemingly random, humble subject: my bathroom towels. The good towels. As in don’t use those towels to wipe the floor or dry off the dog and don’t take them camping. Except they’re not so good anymore, these towels. They’re tattered, tired, fuzz-less towels that—get this—will be twenty years old come next Wednesday. They were a wedding gift back in the day when every wedding showcased maroon, forest green, and/or navy. (Can I get an amen from the mid-nineties brides?) Anyway,…