Sometimes my grandmother would dress like she was homeless. Her clothing just didn’t make sense. It was as if she had pulled some things out of a sack and put them on with no thought to the final outcome. I once saw her at the post office and didn’t recognize her. I am not sure if it was the crocheted cap with the fuzzy ball or the polo shirt with a stork that threw me off. I don’t want to mislead you, she often dressed very nicely. The homeless look wasn’t her norm. This morning, years after her passing I finally understood… I arose with 15 minutes to get ready. No problem considering yoga doesn’t require a lot of getting ready time. Brush teeth, wash face, moisturize and put uncombed hair into a bun. Then I put on my favorite flowered yoga pants, matching tank and not so matching green uggs – chosen for their warmth. I am running low on time so I grab a burgundy fleece -conveniently laying on the chair- and I can only seem to find my bright red down coat although I have a nice neutral navy one somewhere. I catch my reflection as I head out the door and WHOA! I can’t go out like this. Out of time I quickly take off the red down and decide to wear my long black cashmere coat. I am certain that the color and quality will make everything look better. Tada! The homeless look. It is amazing how quickly it happened.
In faith, Deanna