...in one's and two's. Some of them are quite nice: tweedy. My friend, Tom W., thought the initial appearance of many large pants last week suggested a death. Which actually I had thought of, too. But I'd spent the day before talking to a young woman whose husband had died of leukemia two weeks earlier about how she thought she should give his clothes away but couldn't quite bring herself to do it. So I didn't write about the death explanation for the pants. I think I was feeling tired of death.
What a privilege: to be tired of death, and so able to choose to set thought of it aside for awhile.
Tom was right. That appearance of a pile of clothes at once could be due to a death. So how to explain this slow trickle? My earlier idea - weight loss - doesn't expalin the slow trickle very well either. Clothing can be so imbued with who we are. How would it come about that we would discard them, streadily over time?
K--- and S----- are in the living room listening to Joan Jett's version of the Doors' "Love Me Two Times." G---- and L---- are doing the dishes together, listening to David Bowie's "Space Oddity." L---- just asked, "Who's Judy Garland?" I am between it all, hearing both songs, my brain tuning in to one and then the other. This is a privilege, too.
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