Perhaps I have mentioned that I’ve lived in New England for the last, oh, 10 years or so. It is cold here.
These are my wicked good slippers (they really call them that in the catalog) from L.L. Bean. I wear them whenever I’m in the house and not in bed, whenever it’s winter. Which means that I wear them about 18 hours a day, 300 days a year. What?
And they don’t even smell bad. This is because they are made by wood elves in Maine who sprinkle the shearling with fairy dust.
You can see that the right slipper is completely falling apart. I cannot imagine why.
L.L. Bean would replace them for me for free if I called and asked them to, but I’ve had them a long time and worn the heck out of them and don’t feel as though they owe me anything. Still, I should probably replace them. And on the heels of that thought is a second one: Don’t bother. Next winter I’ll be in Georgia.
I really sort of need a new winter parka, too. But why? This is my last real winter, and the coat I have will be sufficient for a few more months. Next winter I’ll be in Georgia.
The fact of the matter is that there’s no love lost between me and winter; not having to shovel the driveway or chip ice off the gas cap door just to fill the car up sounds like a dream come true, to me. Every chilly morning at the bus stop when one child or the other complains about the cold, I can barely keep the glee from my voice as I remind them to enjoy it while they can.
But here in the cold, I putter around my very familiar house, the house where my children have grown from babies into small, mouthy humans who start sentences with “Actually” and “Regardless” and who know how to make me laugh with a single word. I putter around this house that knows me and knows my kids in my beloved slippers, and now those slippers are literally unravelling before my very eyes.
And for some reason, painting and spackling and cleaning and sorting and pitching and everything else that is part and parcel of preparing to sell this house has been fine. I was—as I am with the prospect of leaving winter behind—completely at ease and ready to move forward and just fine, thankyouverymuch.
But when I noticed that my slippers were falling apart, I followed suit. I can sell the house. I can change climates. I can try again (I think it was Grace who told me “Ah, the second marriage! The triumph of hope over experience!”). I can change so many things… but the thought of doing all of that without my trusty slippers was, for a moment, too much to bear.
I’ve decided to wear them as long as I can, but not replace them when they go. I don’t know what I’ll wear on my feet during my days in the house I cannot yet picture in a land I barely know. I think that I rather enjoy being barefoot, when it’s warm enough. I almost don’t remember. But I think I will very soon.
Happy Love Thursday, everyone. May you embark on your own adventure that is equal parts excitement, fear and faith.