Coming out of the Closet

"Women usually love what they buy, yet hate two-thirds of what is in their closets."  ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

Well, this is true for me, no doubt.  My struggles shopping for clothes are well documented in this space, but I'm coming along with that talent. I'm getting better at knowing what will fit and what won't, and some of my extreme pickiness has fallen by the wayside. On a recent trip, once I eliminated everything that didn't fit, and everything I didn't like, there were two white T-shirts and a package of tube socks left in my shopping cart, and that will not do.  I must report, however, that just the other day, I found the mythical chupacabra of women's clothing. A pair of dress pants, with no annoying buttons or zippers, crisp, comfortable fabric (with just precisely enough stretch) and…wait for it…pockets! Really, they exist, even for someone who isn't a double-zero.

Having recently managed to acquire a few key pieces of clothing that don't resemble convict clothing, my task now is the closet. Or, as it's referred to in my house, the abyss. While I drool over home improvement magazines that feature amazing walk-in closets that are bigger than my living room, my actual closet is long, dark, and narrow. There are some Home Depot shelves screwed to one wall and a spring-loaded rod that routinely falls down, but that's OK because nothing hangs on it. The shelves and the floor are covered with the flotsam and jetsam of 5 years worth of pants, jeans, shirts, and shoes that I tried to wear, forgot to wear, or am never, ever going to wear.

I read once that to clean out a closet, everything has to be sorted into two piles, "Keep" or "Donate." My closet needs a third pile called, "What was I thinking?"  Trying to get organized is a lifelong battle for me, but how hard could it be to manage one small 3 foot by 6-foot closet?

It's sort of like a treasure hunt, at least thinking that made it easier to dig in. Maybe there would be a $20 in the pocket of an ugly jacket? Perhaps I would find that Coach wristlet I scored at a yard sale and then lost track of? It could be right under the 19 pairs of yoga pants shoved onto the shelves. For someone who hasn't Namaste'd in like, forever, if I do decide to go all downward dog, I'm covered.

The jeans are the next to be dealt with. Pick a size, any size; chances are I have it. I have size 12s that fit and size 16s that are too small and so does every woman I know. Someone is screwing with us on this sizing issue, and when the sisterhood catches that guy, he will be eating pavement. I kept two pairs and they better last because they are exactly what I want and what feels right to wear. Also, they don't make that style anymore, of course.

When at last the floorboards of the closet can be seen, and there are a few Hefty bags of donations ready to go, it's not an abyss anymore but rather a lonely outpost of questionable fashion choices and way too many white, beige or light blue tailored shirts. My wardrobe is down to the bare bones of necessary pieces, with a couple basic black cocktail dresses hoping for a date night. For now, it's enough, but pretty soon I will have to shop again, to fill in the gaps. Working at home is convenient at times, but branching out and wearing a skirt or a bright green silk shirt now and then wouldn't kill me. A friend told me that if you're not taking a fashion risk at least once a week, you're not living your best life. She can wear anything and make it look good, but it's not because she's a perfect size 4, it's because she doesn't let a number on a tag define her.

I hung my new dress pants on a real hanger and placed them gently on the closet rod, which has been re-attached. Perhaps the shopping gods will continue to smile on me and eventually, there will be a tunic top or a funky sweater to go with them. I'm coming out of the closet, but I'll be back with a few more items soon enough. Does anyone want to go shopping with me?

Bundle Up

"All of us could take a lesson from the weather. It pays no attention to criticism."

―Anonymous

Yes, I know it's January in New England, and it's supposed to be cold. Yes, it's true, people who don't like the cold probably shouldn't live where it's cold. Complaining isn't going to change it, that's also a fact. The weather, much like a stubborn child, refuses to do as I ask. This is where my home is, so suck it up, Buttercup, right?  One small complaint won't hurt though, so here it is: Holy mercury, Batman, it's cold enough to test your frosticles! If they haven't fallen off, that is. For purposes of this article, let's say frosticles are those frozen bits of water hanging from the gutters, OK?

Bundled under a blanket and wearing my hat, scarf and flannel jammies, I was channel surfing and saw some shows about other places where it's even colder, for an even longer part of the year. In some town called Yellowknife, in Canada, there is an entire industry built around driving trucks over frozen lakes to get big bulky pipes and equipment to some diamond mine. It's really amazing to see how these massive loads are managed, over the ice road, sometimes with just hours to spare before it starts to thaw. It's quite a lucrative job for the 45-60 days a year that the ice road is open, but I can say with certainty that there isn't enough money in the whole world for me to ever live or work up there. It's like being on the moon or something, it's otherworldly.

There was also a documentary about science researchers who live at the South Pole, at McMurdo station, in Antarctica. In a whole year, the sun comes up once and goes down once. That's it. That song from Annie, "The sun'll come out, tomorrow?" Don't bet your bottom dollar on that at McMurdo; you will lose. Between the elevation and the thickness of the air, it's hard to breathe, hard to sleep, hard to do anything but eat and run science experiments inside bunker-like facilities. Once February rolls around, don't get any ideas about leaving, you're stuck until the following October or November because jet fuel and hydraulic fluid would freeze immediately, so any rescue mission is out of the question.

So, that settles the question of "It could always be worse." Anything could always be worse though. So how do we get through these brutally cold days? Baking cookies, having comfort foods like macaroni and cheese and meatloaf, and staying bundled up are all good ideas, right? Until April when we emerge from the winter cocoon and realize that all the cookies, casseroles and inertia will make their presence known on that first beautiful day when you pull the bikes out to take a ride. It's then that we realize what winter has truly been. Still, so what? You do a few extra laps, problem solved. It's that or drag your shivering bits to the gym all winter, trying to stay upright in the icy parking lot and cursing all your friends from California and Florida who post beach pictures on Facebook. Me personally, I'm going with the bundle up and bulk up plan, with just enough exercise thrown in to keep me from becoming frozen in place. Nothing is guaranteed in life, what if Spring never comes? Best to gather ye brownies while ye may. Nutrition aside, no one wants a big leafy salad and a piece of steamed fish on a frigid January night.

Bundling up is a challenge for me though. I'm a fashion failure most of the time, winter or summer. Putting the right colors together and finding cute accessories eludes me, so trying to look good and be warm is a bridge too far for me. Thankfully I have a friend who can knit, so I have a warm beanie, a cozy scarf, and fuzzy mittens. Those, along with a big puffy coat and clunky warm boots are my nod to frostbite fashion. It's nice to browse the catalogs and see the bright colors and coordinated winter gear, but it's not me. Chances are I'm going arse over teakettle into a snowbank at least once; it doesn't much matter what my outfit looks like.

These cold days will pass though. We don't live in Antarctica, there are four seasons, and three of them are awesome.  This extreme cold can't last more than a few days, right?  In the meantime, throw on a pot of chili, find something interesting on Netflix and…bake? Sounds like a plan. And just for reference, it's 91 days until Opening Day at Fenway. That's practically right around the corner. Go Sox!