I was cleaning out the closet for my annual spring clean when I came across a piece of clothing I’ve had for I don’t know how long. Ladies, you know the one. It started out flannel, but it has been washed so many times it looks like an old cotton shirt. It was my fathers or my grandfathers, I don’t remember, but somehow I inherited it.
It’s navy blue, white and green checked. It’s extra large and when I put it on its baggy in all the right places. I need to roll the sleeves up to keep them from hanging over the end of my hands. It hits perfectly mid thigh for use as a nightshirt or an occasional, “I don’t think I’ll get dressed today” shirt.
It’s the piece of clothing I put on when I’m sick, when I’m tired or achy or just need to have the warmth of my shroud surround me.
It hangs conveniently on the top of the closet door or sometimes when I’ve had one of those weeks; it hangs on the top of one of the posts on my four poster bed.
As a writer there have been times I have counted on the shirt to help me through a brief block. I grab my shirt, a cup of earl grey tea with a shot of Irish whiskey and work through.
As my husband was piling his old golf shirts and workout clothes into the large bag he nodded in my direction. “Does that go?”
“Not in this lifetime,” I replied.
And back it goes, hanging close by, for when I need it to help me through or bring me comfort.
As always it’s the little things……