Things I Keep in My Pockets

Since fall has come I finally get to wear my jackets again. This is somewhat good and somewhat bad. What is bad is that when I went to grab one several days ago, the coat tree loaded with a shameful number of jackets, sweaters, and coats fell down. This happened because the three-pronged base had given out, the legs splintering the trunk. I put too much on my coat tree. With one hand I held up the pole, and with the other I began pulling coats off the stand and layering them on my rocking chair, which had been nearly empty for the first time in months.

I’m happy with the selection of my jackets. I have three denim ones, and only need one, but it took three tries to get one I like. There is an old imitation black leather jacket, and a new one; the old one wearing out. I have a long dressy coat, a mid-length black velvet, and a light, silvery one I hardly ever wear. Recently I’ve come to appreciate the spencer shape of the knee-length sweaters everyone was wearing several years ago. I have one loosely woven in perfect slate blue, which looks fantastic over all white. Another, light blue, is warmer. And finally I have a cozy, soft white one that I picked up at the church garage sale this summer, and it is my only white coat. With my newfound eye for white skirts, I needed a white sweater. There are others, like my two navy windbreakers, one of which says Awana on the front. And I have two hoodies: a slate grey with bell sleeves and one that has Tigger on it. My heavy coat is grey wool, with a hood. The sweater I wear most is also grey wool, and reminds me of Anne of Green Gables while going with almost everything. There are various others.

Yes, my collection is shameful. But the fact is I wear almost all of them, because I am often cold. Could I get by with less, though? Quite definitely. Since I stopped growing at about sixteen years old, I have been the same size for a long while, and all the jackets I used to have still fit. Like C.S. Lewis in Shadowlands, “I’m not very good at throwing things away, you see.”

In most of my coats and jackets there are pockets. And if there is a pocket, there is almost definitely something in it. I won’t remove the odds and ends that find their homes there. For example, I keep a dime in one. That way I’m never broke. Another has a used spark plug, smooth and cylindrical and useful for messing with when I’m thinking about something else. Some pockets have positive treasures in them, like short notes or little gifts from friends. These are the things that make me smile every time I put my hand in my pocket or feel the weight dangling from my coat. If someone wants to talk about me at my funeral (whenever that is), I hope that the contents of my pockets will be noted. They are testimonies of who I am, what I live for, and how I keep going every day.

Next post: sweater sale?


To God be all glory.