Friday, December 03, 2010
Chilled, not scarfed.
How sweet a thing it is to live inside the sweater weather. It’s easy to take for granted, the days when what you wore morphed so easily into the patched, frayed jeans, the T-shirt by that one band you loved (even do now) and the V-neck sweater, preferably blue or brown, owning up to a tag bragging “100% lambswool” and smelling inexplicably of cedar. Everything else was an addition to that loosely assembled perfection, whether it was the fingerless gloves, the neck scarf it took a full year and a sales associate to fold properly.
You may have 10 years inside that kind of sweatered weather lifestyle, when you can’t help but look fondly toward it in the heat of summer. But, on that 11th one, you may wake up with a closet full of the sweaters, the black ones you could never get enough of, the cable knit, one-button one (it so thick, others would laugh and compare you to some kind of grandpa fisherman), the Mister Rogers cardigans, others. You don’t want to toss them, but you don’t know what to do with them, all the same. You see them as old, comfortable friends you’re neglecting. You peek longingly now and again and hope for 60 degrees.