April 6, 2015

Sometimes It's Not What's on the Outside that Counts

You know how an old song takes you back and gives you that warm fuzzy glow from within?  Or how great it feels to be reunited with an OLD friend.  Or the thought of an old, ancient memory and how good it makes  you feel?

Yes, sometimes something old can be quite a comfort.  

I thought about that the other day when I donned a special something that I'd recently acquired.  No, it wasn't a new dress, or a new pair of shoes. No, not that pair or earrings either.  It wasn't even that brand new purse that I couldn't resist purchasing.

It was my dad's old ratty, thread bare, holey work jacket that he'd discarded and I saved from the rag bag not too long ago.

When we were sorting things that the folks no longer wanted a few months ago, that coat had been tossed into the "get ride of immediately" pile.  I felt a tug at my heart when my eyes spied it lying there and for fun, I pulled it on while we were working on our packing chores. There was a chill in the air after all and it kept me warm. Well needless to say, that coat never went back into the discard pile but made its way home with me, along with a plethora of other items, all cherished and dear.  

As dear to me as that coat is, I guess I never realized just what its appearance might be to others who have not the knowledge of its worth.  Despite its tackiness, it seems to encompass me like a hug from my father and wearing it makes me oh so comfortable and content.

But it also brings to my mind my brother and his wife who, shortly after marrying settled into their first home in a little town on the outskirts of a major metropolitan area.  They loved it there, and especially my brother, who appreciated that fact that they dwelt among others who didn't put much stock in others' appearances. 

Indeed there was no snobbery in their town and he felt quite at ease doing his yard work or going to "town" in just about any sort of attire.  His favorite was a ratty old work coat that his wife dubbed his "Comstock coat" on account of their namesake town of residence.

My brother, much like our father, just didn't care much about what others thought of his appearance and so he wore his ratty old coat.

But the day came when he was forced to wander farther than town limits and venture into the big city to purchase something or other.  Before he could leave the house, though, he was met at the door by his wife who proclaimed that he was NOT going to town in that tacky Comstock coat and if he knew what was good for him he would turn around and find something more suitable to wear.

Well, I guess you know who won that battle.  And I'm sure the Comstock coat is no longer lying around their home, but there is actually no call for it any longer as they left the little town years ago and moved on up to the big city.  

At any rate, here I was the other day, donned in dad's old jacket, at the local grocery store.  I didn't think one thing about what I looked like.  It just felt right.  And even though when I put my hands in both pockets they fell deeply into an abyss because the cotton liners had all but rotted away, I didn't even bother to stash my pocket book in but tucked it under my arm.  

And I lifted my head high as I made my purchases and came home.  I didn't care who saw me or what they thought or anything else for that matter.  After all, my new old coat means much more to me than making any sort of fashion statement does. 

And that coat, it says "I love you" to me every time I put it on.