My bed is covered with things. More specificaly, my bed is covered with clothes. Clothes that need to be sorted and packed and, well, disposed of. I have far too many clothes. The next step in this grand relocation of ours is to London, England. We fly next week. And there are only so many suitases that we can take with us.
So, there’s sorting to get done. Honestly, it’s a healthy thing to do. The transatlantic move is a great excuse, but I should probably have done this ages ago. It’s just that it is so hard to let go of things.
Now, by things, I mean clothes that have been with me for ages. I don’t neccesarily mean things I wear all the time, or even often. But clothes that have emotional strings. That skirt I wore to that great Spousal gig. That sweater that I took to Spain. That green dress. Stuff that probably isn’t good enough anymore even to donate to the Sally Ann, but that’s hard to visualize moldering in a garbage dump somewhere.
I guess downsizing my wardrobe is a physical reminder that the past is the past. Keeping the clothes of the past doesn’t realy help me prepare for the unknowable possibilities of the future. The words from Matthew lurk somewhere in the back of my head: take no bag for the journey or extra tunic. Now, I know that there’s a mission-based context around this statement, and theological logic going on, too. But the words are still there, and, in over-burdened, over-materialistic time and place, there is wisdom to be heard in those words. Be content with what you have, and have only what you need. Trust. Don’t burden yourself with too much. It’s hard, but necessary. I can’t let the emotion get in the way on this.
And to juxtapose with this , I present to you Blue’s sweater. Or rather, it will be a sweater when it is done. I’ve been knitting it all summer, and it is still sleeveless. But it will be glorious when it’s done. It’s a patchwork pattern cardigan, with a contrasting alphabet letter in each square. A bit of a technicolur dreamcoat. And yes, it will keep him warm (for eons—I’m knitting it big). And yes, I’ll be able to spot him anywhere in those bright colours. But this is, beyond all that, this is emotional clothing. I know that it will be entirely impossible to part with at some unimaginable future date. It will have to be bronzed or something. It is a garment of love. But maybe that’s not extraneous, because what mother doesn’t want to wrap her child up like that?
So, back to the bed. The hardest part of reducing my own wardrobe was choosing amongst my sweaters. I grew up in a family of knitters. I have never been without an ample supply of handknit garments, the warmer and chunkier the better. And sweaters like these take up so much suitcase space. But, knowing that the damp of England awaits, I needed to evaluate wisely. I’ve decided to bring my mum’s old cardigan. She passed it on to me when I went away to university. Her own mother knit it for her before I was even expected. I can remember sitting on my mother’s lap as a child and clinking the buttons together. They made a nice sound. They still do. I know because my own kids like them, too. This all makes the sweater sound veritably ancient, and perhaps unfit for the new life in a new country. But, it’s an Aran cardigan, thickly cabled and made of hard, enduring Scottish wool. It will stand me in good stead anywhere for ages yet. It will keep me feeling warm—and loved, too.
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And, on the list of things that take up no space in the suitcase but that make the way brighter (or possibly, just the list of cool things Presbyterians do…), we have this: Handbells and Lady Gaga. Something for everyone.
