Saturday, November 5, 2011

Not quite treasure

It's snowing. It's been snowing. Since before I got up a little before 7:30 this morning. For the 5th of November - that's a lot of snow. Fortunately, it hasn't piled up too high yet; I'm not quite ready to hear the roar of the snow thrower...
One of the joys of the onset of winter, besides already drying out skin and hair, is the return of outerwear to my regular wardrobe. I can get by with my 18 year old Patagonia fleece for quite a while as the temperatures start to drop, and having grown up in Seattle, I can walk through a lot of rain before I would classify the weather as "wet" instead of "damp."
That said, I do not especially enjoy being cold, and so this evening on my way to worship I pulled my red down vest from the coat closet and put it on for the first time in months. And what to my pocket-seeking hands did appear? But a whole pile of junk that hasn't seen the light of day since the last time I wore the vest, last winter... including: a wad of Kleenex (not used, thank God), a starlight peppermint, a couple of peppermint wrappers, and one of those not-even-bite-sized Three Musketeers nuggets, which at this point could probably break a tooth. Not exactly buried treasure. Not even some spare change!
These spontaneous treasure hunts happen every year, and with just about every coat, jacket or vest I own (which I would have to admit are greater in number than one girl actually NEEDS). You'd think I'd manage to clean out my pockets before relegating the warm stuff to the back of the closet in the spring, but I never know the last time I wear something will be the last time I wear it for the season.
I remember something similar happening when I was growing up. As the oldest of two sisters, I was the one who handed things down, not the handee. The upside: lots of new clothes, including beautiful wool coats thanks to a Grandma who also did not enjoy being cold. The downside: I rarely cleaned out those pockets, either, at the end of winter, and when they became hand-me-downs, the ownership of pocket contents transferred to my younger sister along with the pockets. Maybe that's why I rarely find any money in my own coats winter to winter these days...

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