Red corduroys: a Rescue Story
Good morning and welcome from cloudy Vermont.
Maybe it was the commencement of spring, or may the ancillary pain of bacteria die off, but the pile of clothing on her floor had to go, and right away! So I taped up a box, sat at the foot of my daughter’s bed, and began picking up and folding each item from the messy pile at my feet. Shirts, skirts, various odd-colored uniforms from her high school sports days–I stacked them all in the box, preparing them for someone else’s use.
But then they found me–barn red skinny corduroys in perfect condition, and so very soft to my touch. I held them up to my daughter. “You’re giving these up? Why?” “I never wear them” “But they’re so soft!” “I know. That’s why I bought them. On one of our trips to Maine. Portland Goodwill. Seven dollars. Try them on!”
I rose from her bed and went into our bedroom, shutting the door for both privacy and the full-length mirror on it’s other side. I sashayed around and spun a few times, happy with their look and feel. But then I got cold feet. Could a middle-aged woman go out in public with tight fitting barn red corduroys? Would people look at me and think, “Oh don’t you hate it when older women try to look like teenagers?”
I threw on a black long-sleeved shirt and modeled for my daughter. “They look good, Mom.” I thought so too, so I wore them for two days straight, in and out of the house. Someone bought these pants once and passed them on until they came home to me. How delicious.
Red is one of my brand colors. It’s on my blog, in my books, and now it’s on me. Do you have red corduroys, or something like them? Tell me your story. And then, check back next Saturday for another segment of Finding Home.