dressing for adventure

“It’s finished,” I snipped a final thread on the reversible zipper jacket with belt, pockets and zipper. “Try it on,” I handed it to my then 8 year-old step-son.
“Thanks,” he grinned. From that afternoon on, he wore that jacket every day he could until he outgrew it.
One day he confided, “When I put on the jacket you made me, I feel like I am Robin Hood.” He was not leaving for school as much as he was leaving dressed to win another battle with the Sheriff of Nottingham.
I mentioned that to my grandmother and added, “Remember that dark green wool suit someone gave me? You remodeled it and embroidered flowers and leaves over the button holes. Whenever I wore that jacket, I felt like I was Heidi of the Swiss Alps.” I was sure someday, because of me, some Clara would walk, a poor feeble grandmother would have soft bread and Grandfather would leave his mountain hide-away.
My grandmother smiled, “I always wondered what you thought about my alterations and little ways for making a hand-me-down suit look new again.”
It was a sad day when I grew too tall to fit that suit. My days as Heidi were over. But not my propensity for finding an article of clothing and suddenly, inexplicably declaring it perfect because of how I feel when I wear it.
Forget about fashion. Forget that after I have worn and washed a favorite garment dozens of times, it is tired, faded and worn. The happy feeling continues until the harsh reality of an irreparable tear forces me to dispose of the cherished jacket, skirt, blouse or shoes.
As an adult, it is not so much who I become as that exhilarating feeling of happiness when I have a perfect fit physically and emotionally. Like the shoes I found at a summer clearance. The instant I slid them on my feet echoed Goldilocks’ sigh of “JUSST Right!” Fortunately, they were a neutral color: I wore them a lot.
The just right feeling stirred again recently when I found a rack of sweaters marked down 50 percent. For weeks I had been looking for a sweater that would go anywhere. I found a black one that fit my wardrobe and added it to my pile of purchases. Before leaving the area though, I looked through the racks one more time and found one exactly like it in forest green.
I loved the green color. The black sweater was doomed. The clincher came when I tried it on. The sweater cozily wrapped around me. It did not matter that the green sweater did not coordinate with much of anything in my closet. It was the sweater I had been looking for. I bought it.
At least that was less time than the years I searched for a winter jacket in stores, shops and malls across the country. I finally found a navy blue, wool sailor jacket mixed up with a bunch of tired blouses and dresses at a garage sale. My heart leaped to my throat. I wanted that coat to fit. It did.
I dread the day it wears out. Until then, whenever it’s freezing outside, I am on the lookout for any icebergs that might wreck my ship.


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