Few things warm my heart more than a stack of vintage linens. My brother-in-law, Jeff, recently turned fifty, and we had a spectacular homemade bash: homemade food, homemade ice cream, and homemade beer. As my sister-in-law, Sandi, was setting up tables and chairs and determining which tablecloth went where, she remarked that looking at the stack of tablecloths was like looking at the layers of their lives. The stack on the left belongs to Jeff and O'Hara, the stack on the right belongs to Sandi and Mark. Both couples have been married for close to thirty years. The stacks of tablecloths represent wedding gifts, birthday presents, great finds at rummage sales, splurges at boutiques, and even homespun goodness. Some tablecloths are well washed and bleached by the sun, markers of memorable events. Others rarely see the light of day, but sit in the cupboard waiting patiently for just the right occasion. Spread out on tables, soiled by happy party goers, they looked like icing on the cake. I have a relatively small stack of tablecloths compared to my in-laws, but another twenty years of collecting, and I too will look through the layers of our lives and remember many wonderful events.