It’s spring-cleaning time and I’ve been cleaning out the Fibber McGee closet in my office, so it can do double-duty as the office supply larder/off-season clothing storage. (An aside: Boo-frickin’-hoo, she has to store her off-season clothes next to her office supplies. Yeah, I know. But I lived for a while in a one-bedroom apartment with six closets and it forever changed my concept of what adequate closet space is.)
I think it’s been established elsewhere on this site that I was officially Hard On Clothes as a kid. Pristine Best & Co. outfits were passed down to me by my sister, only to disintegrate almost immediately. I remember, in particular, her “Sound of Music” inspired ensembles. I also remember third grade, a freakish year in which there were no hand-me-downs — either my sister didn’t grow, or I didn’t grow. At ny rate, I got NEW clothes. I still smile when I see photos from that year because I remember who pleased I was.
I guess I’m not as hard on my clothes anymore as some of them are surviving years, even decades. Surprising, given how low I shop on the clothing chain. And while I adhere to the “throw it out if you haven’t worn it in two years” rule, a few things get to slide. Well-made dressy clothes for one. Beautiful shoes, even unwearable ones.
Today, however, I confronted a 12-year-old Gap skirt. A long, slim skirt with a side-button placket, in a muted plaid of pale green/yellow/beige/brown. I bought this at the Gap in Landover Mall, taking a shopping lunch break while on the way back to Baltimore from an assignment. I was a very different person then — far more optimistic, overwhelmingly sentimental. I even looked different — short, short hair, and still a natural brunette.
I know I need to fold up the skirt for the give-away box, along with some other things I haven’t worn in a while.
Okay — it’s gone. Along with some other things that had no reason to hang on and on. I don’t miss the skirt. I don’t really miss the woman who wore the skirt. Much.
Any clothing you can’t give away? Any clothing you regret giving away? (My bowling shirt, whose sponsor was a Waco, Texas mortuary.) Any snarky comments re: my mournful nostalgia for six closets, which is about as attractive as a Romanov pining for the good old days? (Six closets. Six! Coat closet, two hall closets, two huge closets in the bedroom and a linen closet.) Type away.
Be annoyed no more, I’ve found it. My copy of Mr. Sammler’s Planet — a yellowing, book club edition from 1970. Ah, the last lines…
“At his best this man was much kinder than at my very best I have ever been or could ever be. He was aware that he must meet, and he did meet–through all the confusion and degraded clowning of this life through which we are speeding–he did meet the terms of his contract. The terms which, in his inmost heart, each man knows. As I know mine. As all know. For that is the truth of it — that we all know, God, that we know, that we know, we know, we, know.”
It is nearly impossible for me to part with a book once I own it. I give away duplicate copies.. and do loan my books, even signed first eds., to a short list of particular friends who I know will return them and not eat chocolate while they’re reading. The only book I distinctly remember donating to a charity shop was ‘The Unbearable Lightness of Being.’ Argh. I gave up trying to read it after at least three tries. It annoyed me like nothing before or since, though, at the moment, I’m not sure why.
As for clothing kept the longest.. it is a bowling t-shirt from the M.M.M.M. (Mark Murphy Mini Memorial) bowling league. Burgundy with slightly peeling gold lettering. It’s from an office league I belonged to in 1966. My first grown-up job. Every Friday night we bowled (and drank
at Marina Towers in downtown Chicago. Still stay in touch with many of these pals, though we’ve gone our separate ways. Mark M, our fearless team leader, moved to Des Moines last we heard, and became very wealthy creating softwares. Not sure what ever became of the trophy I was awarded that year, but for unknown to me reasons, I still keep that raggedy tee in my closet. I suppose it makes me think of good old friends and being twenty-one again.
Next oldest item is a faded blue denim jacket that I started sewing embroidered patches onto in 1968. It’s like a diary of my travels throughout the 70s and 80s. Many campgrounds in Ontario are represented – ah, Ivanhoe Lake, the aurora borealis, tent camping on the beach, the stars, s’mores… I just love it. Keeping it around helps me remember places I long to return to one day.
Cheers,
Annie
I have dozens of tee shirts I cannot/will not give up; I have the plans for a “tee shirt quilt” I found years ago that involve ironing them onto a fabric that will keep ‘em from stretching and then making them into a wall hanging quilt, because like Annie’s jacket, they’re a diary. Places I’ve been, or events I attended, political statements out the wazoo. I still wear (and buy) tee shirts; bought a new one this week with a “West Wing” (the tv show) theme.
It’s tough having quit work over a decade ago (eek) because I’m hardly a clotheshorse, but I miss buying new things. I just don’t NEED things though, for hanging around the house, which is like 80 percent of my life. And I don’t wear stuff out much.
The one thing i cannot get rid of is a skirt because it’s too beautiful. I will never fit in it again. It’s a black wool skirt with a band of bright embroidery near the bottom, which I htik has fringer. The wool is phenomenally soft and lovely and it’s…just…gorgeous. If we had wall space, I swear I’d hang it on the wall. It’s from central or south America (having too hard a time walking to go look in that closet) and it really should go to someone who could wear it. But i don’t know who.
Laura? One of the funniest realizations about west coast living happened when I first moved to California in the mid-70s. I was chilly one evening and said something totally stupid about not wearing a sweater, it was June. I then realized that a childhood ritual of packing away 6 months’ worth of clothes, was gone from my life. No more mothballs, no more putting away the winter stuff. The bay area and Seattle are tee shirt-to-jacket climates 9 months out of the year; I put a few things in the back of the closet, but I wear stuff close to year round. Six closets sounds SO nice; even in our 2 bedroom place here, we have TWO. No coat/linen/utility at all.
I still have a pair of jeans my father bought me when I was 15 at Bob’s Surplus in Middletown, Conn., when there was only one style of jeans. After telling the salesman what size, the jeans would come flying down a chute and land on the big plank of wood that served as a counter. But it’s not so much that old store memory, but it was the only piece of clothing my father ever bought me. It was a very difficult time in our family and that was one of the only good days I can remember from that time. Granted, the last time I actually wore those jeans was sometime in the ’80s when I was still smoking and painfully thin. But I can’t bring myself to get rid of them.
As far as books, my husband and I keep threatening to weed ours out but we inevitably get more books rather than get rid of any. Why do I still have my business law book from college? Why do I need numerous biographies of Henry VIII, his wives and his children, except to feed my odd obsession with Tudor England? On the other hand, being able to get my hands on a very worn copy of “Wuthering Heights” or “The Great Gatsby” is a pleasure.
Laura a gra
years ago, I got an old battered leather jacket in new York, it had a baseball in the pocket, loved that sucker, wore it for years then felt it was time to smarten up and gave it away…….and the baseball……do I regret it, like the best sin!
having lived in Japan a for a year, I need a lot of space……give me yer spare closets…..and bookshelves…..never enough, dont get me started
gra go mor
ken
Books. Now that’s too fraught. Someone needs to invent a machine to vacuum pack them, shrink them down to miniatures so there will always be space for more.
I give away a lot of books now — but none by friends. Figure it’s good karma to buy the Current Big Deal in hardcover, read it, enjoy it (or not), then pass it on to someone who might not otherwise read it. I’ve also had the pleasure of giving away my early Serpent Tail versions of Pelecanos as I’ve slowly acquired all his work in hardcover. A copy of A Firing Offense to anyone who wants it! Also, the paperback of Samaritan, as I bought it just for the pleasure of marking it up for class.
The hardest is the books that fall apart in my hands, the college paperbacks — the Annotated Lolita, which opened to my favorite clue about Lolita’s “kidnapper” . . . my ancient copy of Auntie Mame, the spine down to the nub. A cult favorite, long out of print, A Novel Called Heritage, which divided in two, in part because it was a stripped copy. (My sister works in bookstores, so I came by my stripped books quite legally.)
Now here’s one I can’t give away, although I never re-read it — White Palace, by Glenn Savan. Why? I think it’s because he never wrote another book, despite all the promise and hullabaloo.
Hmmm. My copy of Mr. Sammler’s Planet seems to have gone missing. This annoys me, as I wished to re-read the last line. I have a vivid memory of carrying my comforter to the dry cleaners, my friend Ellen and I wearing it, as if we were children going trick-or-treating as a brown plaid ghost. And at some point under the comforter, we finally understood the last line, saw it clearly, and began shouting and laughing outside the Varsity Cleaners, as we knew we were now ready for Professor Elizabeth Dipple’s final on the 20th century novel.
For me its a blue shirt. I wore it the first time I flew a plane solo. Plus at the time it was my favorite shirt. I don’t wear it anymore – I don’t want to know how small it really is. But it sits there in the bottom of my drawer.
I’ve been getting better about giving away books – particularly paperbacks. But I’ve still got far more than most people I know. Well except for folks on RAM, 4MA, and the authors.
Black T-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and a fluorescent JOE COOL Snoopy decal. Favorite shirt.
It got to where you could see light through it, including the decal. Kathleen hated it, but I wouldn’t stop wearing it.
So she did what any wife would do when she discovered she couldn’t buy me a new one (they’re not available anymore). She took it to work, scanned it, printed new decals, bought black T-shirts, and I got a birthday present.
Two, actually. One T-shirt, one tank top.
Joe Cool.
Kathleen rocks. That’s love and devotion and stuff right there.
Joe Cool. Kathleen Cooler.
Well, it’s not as though she didn’t get something out of it herself (namely the original in the trash). But I thought so too.
Oooh this is awfully timely espec as I prepare for another move, it seems.
Although it’s been curbed for the most part lately, I have this ridiculous weakness for formal dresses. I go into the shops and I see something that I must buy NOW even if I a) wear it once b) not at all c) wear it in several years’ time. So they’ve accumulated and I can’t bear to part with them, even the ones that don’t quite fit me right anymore (Edgar Awards dress, ca. 2002, which I think would get me busted for indecent exposure now.)
Like this flowing red gown I bought at some random store in Manhattan’s fashion district. It would be an awesome bridesmaid’s dress, except that the next wedding I go to has a different color scheme (and I’m not a bridesmaid anyway.) So what to do? It’ll probably sit in the closet yet another year…or few.
As for books…best not to talk of that. I’ve lost count how many boxes’ worth I own, scattered in several different rooms in different cities. Ack.