“Know when to hold ’em; know when to fold ’em…”
Kenny Rogers was singing about a poker game. I’m singing (ok, writing) about old clothes.
The weather has changed and winter is on the way. This means it’s time to for my fall ritual, wherein I fold my summer clothes (the ones I still love and know I’ll wear next year – the others go to charity) and put them into my “seasonal clothes” box, which I dump onto my bed. But look! Under the heap of sweaters, turtlenecks, hats and gloves I spot my flannel nightshirt! At the sight of this old friend I immediately feel cheered. The stories it could tell…
I bought the nightshirt in mid-October of 2001 at the Vermont Country Store. I’d left my youngest child off for his first year of college a week before the 9/11 attacks. Then, just five days after the horror I also left my marriage. I desperately needed to get away and see if there was still a ME inside, so I took off in my Toyota minivan for a nine-week cross-country sabbatical tour, with Molly, my black standard poodle, for company. It was the first time in my life I’d ever been truly alone (not counting canines). Travels with Molly, I called it.
By the time I got to Vermont, the leaves were putting on their spectacular show, but the ancient farmhouse in which I was staying by myself was waaaay out in nowhere. I felt isolated, anxious (did I hear ghosts in the walls?) and chilly. I got back in my car and drove into Weston, a half hour away, in search of something comforting to sleep in. That’s where I found my flannel nightshirt.
As you can see, it’s shapeless (the nature of flannel nightshirts) and printed with Vermont wildlife (bears, moose, fish, fir trees). Decidedly unsexy. But oh so cozy and comforting. Seventeen years later most of its fuzzy nap is gone, but not the feelings of comfort that wash over me every time I put it on.
Each year as it tumbles out of my seasonal box I ask myself, is it time to “fold ‘em”? To just “walk away?” And each year, the answer is nope. Not yet. I still love it and planned to wear it for another winter, despite its homely and–let’s face it–tired appearance. And it has to be noted, I’m presently single and need only please myself.
Here’s where my tale takes a tragic turn.
A few nights after rediscovering the nightshirt and writing fondly about its comforts, I must have tossed and turned one too many times under the covers, because I heard the sound no garment-wearer ever wants to hear… r-r-r-i-i-p-p. With a sigh and a whimper, my faithful winter friend gave up. Big rips under each armpit. R.I.P literally.
The cold weather wasn’t going away, so I needed a replacement. I won’t bore you with the details of my online quest, but it took longer than I expected to find what I wanted: something cozy warm, but significantly more feminine (well, given the original, a potato sack would have been an improvement). My new nightie is costing $55 – which seems like a lot for sensible sleepwear, doesn’t it? On further reflection, amortizing this over a decade, $5.50 per year is no big deal. If this nightgown lasts 17 years, it should probably pay me.
Then my thinking took an existential turn. If my new nightie hangs in there like its predecessor for 17 years, I will be 95 years old (!!!) when it gives out—if I don’t give out first. In other words, I am buying a nightie that may accompany me for the remainder of my life. Yikes!
So then I looked backwards.
Have you ever taken the time to reflect on all you’ve done, all you’ve learned, all the people you’ve met (and some you’ve lost), and how you (and our society) have changed in 17 years? OK, if that’s too long, just think about five years. This nightshirt, which I’d bought for comfort shortly after 9/11/2001, called me to do that, so I made a list of all the things. It was long and surprisingly impressive—so much I could never have anticipated back then.
Which brought me to wonder…
What unimaginable adventures lie ahead for the next 17 years—and if 2035 is too far ahead to wrap your mind around, what about the next decade, the coming year, the coming day? How will we stretch ourselves? What will we accomplish? What will we learn?
My new nightie and I will do our best to report back in 2035, and we hope to see you then, and of course much sooner as well.