When Your Coat Harbours a Secret

I should preface this entry with the information that I loathe Easter grass. I have pulled yards of it from the rollers of unsuspecting vacuum cleaners. I have tangled my toes in too much of it on my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I was never so glad of anything (except maybe potty training) as I was when my kids outgrew Easter baskets.

The thing is, when it's Winter here, it's really cold. It's just that it comes and goes. It could be bitterly cold for several days, and then warm up to 70 for about a week, and then be bitter again for a few. This cycle repeats until maybe March, when it warms up into the 90's and the Northers only chill it down to 55.

The upshot of it all is that, when you do need a coat, you need it very badly, right now. You may not need it at all tomorrow, but, right now, it's imperative to have a coat.

In the 80's, my favourite was one of those mid-70's heavy, long wrap-around coats, usually made out of a wool blend in a particulary obnoxious plaid. It had huge lapels, and deep pockets. I wore it once or twice a year; the rest of the time, it lived in the hall closet. When I needed it, I would take it down, put it on, tie the belt, and put my hands in the pockets.

Instant recoil. There was something in there that felt really weird. I would snatch my hand out, and then cautiously grope my way back in to pull out whatever was so very nasty in there.

It was Easter grass. I had a whole pocketful of Easter grass. As there was never a wastepaper basket in the front hall, and there was no way I was going to abandon a whole handful of Easter grass loose in my home, I would put it back in the pocket, where it would lie, forgotten, until the next time.

When that coat eventually went to the Goodwill, it went with a pocketful of Easter grass.