For the past decade we have routinely wintered on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina or various places in Florida (from Daytona Beach Shores to Key Largo). As a result most of my clothing is for warmer climes than Canada in the winter. And as a further result I am struggling to adjust to long pants, heavier shoes, long-sleeved shirts, sweaters, hats, coats and gloves. My racoon hat has long ago gone out of fashion.
The biggest challenge is locating things that fit. Predominantly I have been overweight for years except brief interludes when recovering from open heart surgery, punctured lungs, broken ribs, that sort of thing. But when the drugs stop or wear off, it’s back to carrot cake and butter tarts. Consequently most of the winter stuff I still own is XXL which, even if I were slimmer, suits me fine because I prefer baggy clothing which requires little accommodation. There are enough things to adjust to in life without having to fret over whether one’s pants are too tight.
Today’s venture into winter wonderland (for the first time this season it snowed noticeably overnight) has triggered unforeseen fuss – but with some happy advantage. I had coffee today with an old friend and colleague so I thought I should abandon the sweat pants and try to make myself presentable. One of the sweaters I haven’t worn for the past decade (it was still under the plastic wrap from the dry cleaner’s) is a woolen Viyella cardigan. I also decided to sport a Bulova pocket watch and chain I have only once used previously. The chain is unusual in that it is not made to be secured to a buttonhole in a waistcoat but rather to clip onto a belt (with the watch presumably tucked into a small pocket of one’s pants). I have instead clipped the chain to a buttonhole of the sweater and put the watch in the pocket of the cardigan (à la waistcoat style). It works. And I have the indescribable pleasure of employing the watch which I have cherished for years. I might interject that I gave my gold pocket watch and chain to my niece and goddaughter when I thought I would never wear a waistcoat again. She was very close to my father so I thought the gift was appropriate (the watch belonged to my father’s father and it was antique when my grandfather bought it and added it to his collection of 44 other time pieces). I don’t miss it. The Bulova is far less fantastic than the antique Pochelon Frères watch but more “convenable” to my present reduced life-style.
There is an unaccustomed layering to this latest sartorial production. I haven’t yet graduated to the stage where I sport an undershirt but certainly a silk scarf about the neck is not overstating the necessity of warmth in this new environment. Nor have I yet weighed myself down with the sheepskin coat which is surprisingly thick and heavy when one has been accustomed instead to an open-neck short-sleeved linen shirt hanging on the outside of short pants.
But it is all a welcome change. Minutes before my colleague and I parted ways at the coffee shop this afternoon after our 2-hour uninterrupted confab, I summarized to him my state of affairs by saying, “I’m in heaven!” This unhesitate ejaculation surprised even me. Not that I have ever been the slightest bit pessimistic about my fortune in life, but the exclamation resonated with me probably because it marks the conclusion of what was previously my lingering debate concerning the latest alteration of our winter lifestyle. As I drove home from the coffee shop (just 3 mintues from home) along the quiet roadway adjacent Mississippi River, I was unexpectedly subdued by the pleasant surroundings and the late afternoon sunshine streaming along the river.
Though it sounds trite to say so, I am reawkening to the beauty of the seasons, both autumn and winter. Of course there will no doubt be days to come which make me question this blustery passion but the changes are so dramatic that it is as though I am seeing them for the first time. Like so many other things in my head, I had forgotten the details. I can’t say I appreciate the impending threat of ice on the sidewalks or roadways but I’m hoping these incompatible situations will be infrequent. Already I am composing reasons to hibernate – as though it were a reflection of the natural order of things. Meanwhile everything about our current situation is to me unsurpassable. I like being among our own things; it is marvelous to reacquaint myself with old friends; there is a wonderous feature to familiarity; and I am rapidly approaching a full half-century in this blessed town so the historical significance is indisputable by any account. And to punctuate this thriving fortuity, earlier today – after having waited for over twenty years to do so – I finally got it together enough to go to the local hardware store where I commissioned a chap in the building supplies department to cut off the tip of a walking stick I bought on a whim in Montréal and have never once used because it was too long. It may sound like a small matter but I can tell you it wasn’t. Not only was my recent request to a local wood cutting craftsman unambitiously received, but when I got to the hardware store the clerk discovered upon removal of the rubber stopper on the tip of the stick that there was underneath it a smaller metal cap which was secured onto the tip with an extremely small nail – and the entire affair had required molding of the tip to accommodate the metal cap. He took the stick to his private office where I believe he used a hand saw (not an electric one) to cut the tip. Although my partner and I had struggled days ago to measure the one stick I have which is the appropriate length – and then compare it to where we thought the other should be cut – today’s decapitation was done strictly à la carte. And, wouldn’t you know, the adjusted length turns out to be perfect. I used the stick today in association with my pocket watch, completing the old fogey look.
It occurred to me upon further reflection that part of my exuberance stems from having closed the door at last upon all the medical, optometric, auditory, retail, residential and travel affairs which have in their own ways plagued us since our return to Canada last May. We have for example already booked a cruise in 2025. I hesitate to sound plaintive about the challenges of a life of such unmitigated indolence and fortuity as mine, but really things add up. We have finally pulled ourselves from under the commensurate weight of it all. The time for a change has given way to its own fruition.