23 September, 2001 - 21:15 MDT

THE WONDERING JEW

Chain Mail

I have been told it is a guy thing, I am not so sure. I think women are much the same, only reserve their treasures for their unmentionables. (oops, I said it didn't I ?)I tend to bond with my clothes. A favorite sweater, a comfortable jacket, beloved shirts everyone has stood the test of time and my abuse. My Jockeys don't really become a part of me until they are just about to fall off -- man they are so comfortable and friendly.

My fall house cleaning consists of weeding out clothes I can no longer wear, my loss Good Will's gain. My girth is a cause for mirth, so shirts are gradually discarded. But among my tears comes before me a shirt given me by loving kin that was originally three sizes too large and miraculously is just right now.

Every year I try on my Barong Tagalog, a fancy shirt of pineapple fiber embellished with fancy patterns. Only worn every so often to Officers Club do's at Cubi Point NAS, Subic Bay, Phillipines and occasionally worn stateside to fancy doings. It was a beautiful thing, giving it with good will to the Good Will made me choke back a groan, but my tummy the damn dummy refused to fit it any more.

Clothes too worn to give and now too small for me went into the rag bag, at least the cotton stuff. Work clothing no longer to be used by me went this time. But the other stuff, loved for so long said to me, "Sorry old man, you just do not fit any more, we must leave you for another man.

Each piece I would gently pull from the hanger bar in the closet, caress, fold, bid goodbye while remembering all the times and places it had been worn. There was one shirt that practically came apart on the hanger, one way too large when it was a bargain and I desperately needed a shirt, one I had when our youngest boy was born. He just turned 50.

I tenaciously keep my treasures sorted on my hanger bar in the closet and resist any attempt to force something into the Good Will pile.

There is new clothing, nice stuff, looks good and possibly will in time become a favorite piece of garb until with age it is classified as garbage by Heather. She doesn't take it away from me but will look at me when I am dressed to go and ask me, "You don't really intend to wear that tonight, do you ?" I retreat, take off the shirt, seriously hang it back in the closet and pick out one I think Heather will like and once in awhile she does. But my dear friends stay by me quietly, hanging in the closet, ready to serve at a moments notice, giving me moral support and letting me know that the world is still right side up.

I don't suppose any woman can understand how long it takes for a man to try on each thing, strive to make it fit once again and hold a minor funeral service for each piece that has seemingly shrunk beyond who he is.

We spent some time today visiting Heather's brother, she cooked up some stuff, made a salad, cut some melon and made him a dinner to eat rather than consume heart enemy burgers and fries. We had a good visit and he seemed to be better today but is still shaky in many ways. Doesn't seem fair, we are the same age, I abused my body dreadfully while he lived simply and in a healthy manner -- yet here I am pogying around and he is not. He did chuckle when I told him of my closet affray, and laughed when I ended up saying, "At least this time, I did not discard a single piece of Chain Mail" . . . . . . . . . .

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