GAY AND FUN: ADVENTURES IN WINTER WARDROBE FROLICKING

This dilettante divabird has been fighting a headwind for quite some time, but has set down for the night to contemplate the  next flight. The softly shaped fall clouds of South Texas settled in to a glorious sunset in the gloaming, the earlier rain freshening the air. The cooling change of seasons has arrived. Oh to have a fireplace, for the mesquite that fell during the drought, has left a stack of fragrant logs to burn. The good comes with the bad....  Finally there is quiet in the house, the air conditioner has shut off, it must be less than 74 outside. Let that sink in for a minute. It's cool enough outside to wear a denim jacket or a light sweater, a pretty scarf.... time to get out my saddle shoes, penny loafers (with dimes), and cowboy boots. I'd be lyin' if I said the last set of items were something I'd have to pull out.. all the I-lost-count pairs of cowgirl boots have Vogue and Smithsonian magazines rolled up in them to keep them in shape; some old cemetery plastic sunflowers, red and yellow roses of Texas stuck in the middle, for cheer.

I am going to have to find my jeans, ones that fit this year, Always fun. Shakin' out the clothes and shoes and boots for various and sundry undesirables that choose to abide in our old church. So far the only critters I've noticed are some spider webs, abandoned, and some very confused dead ants. Why way over in my closet room? Those ants will never divulge their intentions. What hatbox did I put my lovely flowered hankies in? For what good are jeans without a fancy hankie in the back pocket? Where are all those stretchy velour dresses my daughters say are just not worn any more? For like George Costanza, I would drape myself in velvet all the time if it were allowable, at least this time of the year. My socks, every other pair has no elastic because I haven't worn them in a year. Same with the tights. Where are the long sleeved tee-shirt nighties? My stretch velvet long robe makes me feel like Norma Desmond. Sometimes I miss flannel...I'd have to turn the AC on to wear that unless the Jet Stream does something kooky.  And don't think I haven't done it! I did notice that I slept like taxidermied chihuahua last night...I was so cold that I got stiff and didn't realize all we needed was a blanket. I am correcting that tonight! It's going to be 50 again!

As for outerwear, this is a good time for one to access the necessary types of coats held helpless in bondage for 11 and one third months a year. Windbreaker, yes, 3. Raincoat, yes. Wool coats of varying length and color (one never knows what riding hood will be "just right"), yes. Velvet coats and corduroy coats, yes and yes and yes. Opera coat, of course, one never knows! Leather, certainly. I check my pockets for unseemly detritus, start the year out right and all that rot. Crumpled hankies set aside for a sprucing up, toothpicks, receipts, mysterious business cards, cute matches for my candles, peppermints and cough drops Trip Lists for birds and butterflies, ticket stubs, velvet scrunchies and hair claws and THERE's that pocketknife! How did I get along without all this stuff? Decisions, what to leave, I mean, it was there for a reason, right? Birding vest? Which one? I'm in a quandary...I don't like any of them, which do I hate the least? I'm remembering leaving the Texas Motor Speedway after a free Blockbuster rock concert and it was so hot, Scott left the tailgate on the van up for a bit. When we got home, the perfect birding vest was no where to be seen. It even had one of those zipper pulls that is a compass and a thermometer! And a great pocketknife in the pocket. Le sigh. I might as well tell you now that I have a "thing" about pocketknives. Got an uncle who left you too many pocketknives? Well, Christmas is coming, season for giving... They're like catnip. My estimation of a guy goes way way up if he has a good pocketknife. Girl can't help it. I think I have a secret longing to take up whittling....wonder what wood down in the Rio Grande Valley is the perfect whittling wood? Who on earth could I ask? I don't think old old guys even do that anymore. Maybe it's more charming in the abstract....

Dragging myself over to the accessories areas (there are two), I mate  matching gloves (dress gloves, cool gloves, I'm -in-KC gloves. Stragglers are pushed to the back, I have high hopes for a clandestine reunion! It's happened before, sneaky things. Box of clean bandannas of various colors, great for padding your binocular or camera straps. Too many red ones, never! Hats, out of control, running all over the house, willy-nilly. Winter hats have the freedom fragile summer hats do not: they get to stay out on the pegs yearround. With their buddies, the birding hats I aways take with me and never wear. Or the ballcaps. Really? Not for this divabird, sniff.  Only the truly obedient ear muffs curl up cozily, waiting for a super windy Spring Break fallout. I wore them one night to a football game here, many kids asked me "What do you call those things?" They were leopard and made me feel like a cougar. And the long pashminas and scarves, I just can't wait to wear them! Don't you love scarves? One day, when we are better acquainted, I will show you my scarf collection. I feel like having a scarf party and play with them all at once, then sell off the ones admired most by my friends.  All men should even wear a muffler, period. It's so charming to watch them remove them. The male equivalent to a hair toss if accomanied by a grin. Hmmm.....

A bold and spicy Italian sausage soup I made is turning my attention toward cutlery and bowls....keep warm, and enjoy your new/old winter friends. They have been waiting yet another year to serve and embrace you, like the cousins you only see at Thanksgiving. Family hug.