Comfortable coats
You know that phrase, “Wherever you go, there you are”? It’s really true. My mother cared about what I wore, wanted to make sure I had enough clothing and it fit well enough to be modest and reasonably good looking. I cared about being warm enough (I was always cold) and I prefer bright colors. I don’t like feeling uncomfortable, so it has to be loose enough to not constrain me; none of this “Beauty knows no pain!” That’s for sadists.
My shoes are practical, comfortable, and good enough quality to hopefully last at least a year of constant wear. I own colorful clothing that I found on sale at Goodwill, with elastic waists and ample room for my considerable front porch. I avoid buttons, since on waistbands they get too tight and pop off; on shirts they strain to hold together and frequently come undone, especially when my purse strap rubs on them.
My purse has a strap long enough to go over my head onto the opposite shoulder, so it cannot fall off. For years I carried a diaper bag everywhere: same deal, long strap over my head and across my body. For balance it would be opposite my purse, and I would have a child sitting on my hip or riding in a sling across my front.
Nowadays I carry a handbag with my spiral bound planner, a notebook, whatever book I’m currently reading, some tissues and a bar of dark chocolate, along with graph paper and colorful gel pens for drawing patterns. My purse holds all the other necessities: ID card, credit card, insurance card, breath mints, comb, ballpoint pen, more tissues, a pill bottle of pain reliever, my smartphone, eye drops, lip balm, nasal spray, and my theater mom name tag. From the strap hang my car keys on a carabiner, and my emotional support narwhal, stuffed and covered with velour.
I have two or three jackets, each with tissues in the pocket. I have two or three coats of various weights, two lighter ones for everyday and Sunday use, and one a two-ton parka, with real heft, for blocking all the weather. The heavier coats all have hats and gloves always in the pockets. The parka carries my ski gloves, for removing snow from my car. Ordinarily I would keep only one of each type of coat, but over the years they’ve been given to me, and until a zipper breaks or they rip, I’ll keep using them. One of the lighter ones is a tan trenchcoat, bought so I could dress up as an attorney for Halloween. I wasn’t going to dress up. My children went as a defense attorney and a prosecutor that year; we found a bright blue suit coat that fit my son. My daughter sewed a frilly cravat for herself from a knitted lacy scarf; she wore a red corduroy suit coat that fit her really well. The tan trenchcoat, a genuine London Fog brand, with removable lining and all the straps and buttons, was there at Goodwill. It fit me! How often do you find a real trenchcoat in your size, right there when you need it? We had a white fedora with a colored band that fit me well; I looked great. I looked so good, in fact, that several people mistook my costume for Inspector Gadget. I should have brought a claw grabber, the sort they sell to elderly people and trash collectors, for picking things up off the ground.
