|That black leather mini…back in the day|
I’ve been inspired by Marie Kondo and her “method.” I’m an emotional person…surprise…who attaches memories to “things.” My mind will say that throwing out the dress is like throwing out the memory of the great/sad/exciting/devestating/beautiful time I had wearing that dress. Marie Kondo says that people like me should only own “things that spark joy in their lives.” Wow. So, beginning with the end in mind…only keeping things that spark joy inside me…we start by discarding things that are out of style, don’t really fit, are age inappropriate, and the like. Marie recommends you hold up the candidate and let it talk to you. Really. You should begin to feel the joy it brings. If there is no sense of joy, you simply thank the garment for the role it played in your life, and then wish it well in its new life, being owned by someone else! Then, out it goes.
I made good progress. Some items just didn’t talk to me at all. I looked dumbly at the garment saying out loud, “what was I thinking when I bought this? Or, maybe, I liked it but it really never fit right so I never wore it. Some of the items still had sales tags attached. Geez.
But then I came to my row of skirts. There were grouped “summer/spring” and “fall/winter” and then arranged by length (this was the most organized segment of my closet…ever. There were maybe 20 skirts, total. But the first one in the fall/winter department was a little black leather mini skirt. I held it up. “How did I ever get those hooks to catch?” It was tiny. But then the memories came flooding back: I remember going to The Raven in New Hope around Halloween, wearing a short, platinum bob wig, black turtle-neck sweater with a little black knit belt, the leather mini skirt, black tights, and black leather pointy-toe boots with a kitten heel.
|All grown up|
Two years ago at the Hyatt in Philadelphia
Like it was yesterday, I remember the butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling as I opened the door to the Oak Room which contained about 100 men, half of whom were singing a show tune to Russ Eiffert’s accompaniment on the baby grand in the center of the room. To me, it was like the classic saloon scene in a western movie, where someone pushes through the swinging doors and the piano stops and every poker player and bar drinker turns to eyeball the “new cowboy in town.” That’s how it felt when Russ recognized me entering and he looked me over from top to bottom, pretending the keys on the piano were suddenly too hot to touch and he gently blew on his fingers to cool them. The whole room turned to check me out. I was mortified but luckily recalled the advice of a friend who told me to enter a room “like you own the place!” I smiled, I waved and found a seat near the piano where I could sit down and sort of disappear into the crowd. Russel (RIP) behind the bar sent over a cosmo and we were off to a really fun night, singing and meeting new people.. That was a great night.
So, I held up that little leather mini-skirt and I thanked it for that night and for the memories it brought back. Then, I wished it safe travels and put it in the Goodwill bag.
The skirt is gone but the memories are still there. It’s OK.
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