I know this sounds demented.
The squeamish, those that say "this heat and humidity feels so good" may not want to read further.
When the news this morning said a storm was headed this way with snow and bitter cold I felt a sense of exhilaration.
I get to haul out my winter coats.
I'm a coat freak. Every closet in my house bears the bulk of an assemblage of coats, jackets, and zip up hooded sweatshirts from every era, beginning with the 1970s. That's not counting the green plaid "car coat" I have that was my fathers, maybe from the 60s, and my brother's bowling jacket with his name on the back.
I still have my fringed, leather jacket from high school and a swing coat; faux fur coats popular in the 1980s, dress coats inherited from my older sister who insisted on owning several church coats coinciding with the season (bright red for Christmas) , and some funky ponchos I was tempted to haul back out because they are back in style but haven't had the guts to after I saw a bumper sticker that read "Real friends don't let friends wear ponchos."
A hand-crocheted one made for me decades ago by my aunt is floor-length, white with gold sparkles in it, and weighs about 50 pounds.
My father was a softspoken man who never yelled, so when he did discipline any of his kids it was major. One of the few times I got in trouble was in junior high school when he found out I was wearing his army jacket from World War II around town. Army jackets were the rage amidst the anti-war sentiment.
"That jacket is something you earn," he said quietly.
I was 13 year old and thought "what does he know."
How things change.