My husband unearthed a real gem during his ruthless attic purge a few weeks ago.
“Hey, I found this red and green coat,” he casually said Saturday afternoon. “I hung it in the garage to air out. Do you want to check it out before I take it to Goodwi—-?”
He might have finished saying that word but I wouldn’t know. I was too busy sprinting to the garage like I did that time I thought a bobcat was chasing me.
“My coat!”
I hugged it fiercely.
I have been looking for that giant, warm coat for years. It’s the last coat my dad gave me before he died in 1993 and, let me tell you, that coat is warm!
I wanted it for practical reasons, because I live in the Midwest where the winter air can sometimes freeze your freckles.
And for personal reasons.
My dad liked to give people coats and, when your legacy is thick, warm coats, you end up giving people big ole hugs long after you’ve left this old world.
I could not believe how well that old coat held up over 30 years. My husband could not believe I was willing to slip it on after all the time it spent in our attic.
“Did you want to check it for bats first?” he said with a well-earned dubiousness.
“Nah,” I said (though I will admit to a brief, second thought as I slid my arms through).
I’m telling you, that coat has not aged at all. Thanks to its two weeks in the garage, it even smelled fresh and clean.
I felt my own many years slip away as I strutted around that garage in my puffy coated finery, especially when I noticed all the ink blotches on the inside pocket.
“Look!” I told my still kind of skeptical husband. “Ink stains from my sports writing days!”
I’m not going to actively hope for an Arctic blast or anything like that. I’m a well-known fan of early springs.
But, should we get a round of brisk weather, I know just the coat I’ll be wearing.
