Our coatrack stands by the back door. It’s equipped with a small bench for the kids to dump their backpacks and bins to hold their shoes. Or, at least that’s the theory; shoes are just as likely to be found littered around the house. But I digress.
I’m writing about the coatrack itself, which this time of year is fully bloomed with puffy heavy coats, hoodies and rain jackets. One must be prepared for variety of weather conditions. North Carolina seasons are notoriously fickle — a 70-degree day can easily be followed by a rainy cold snap. Our coatrack stands in witness.
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I like the change in seasons. I’m just not a huge fan of having all the different ones in the same week. Come August, there will be a pleasant chill in the air, only to be followed by a week of furnace-like heat and humidity. February and March are just as unpredictable; as far as the old proverb goes, it’s lions and lambs swapping back and forth for weeks.
The growth of the kids exacerbates our family's coatrack chaos. The boys, in particular, seemingly outgrow the day’s clothes by that evening. There are several sweatshirts donning the coatrack that no longer fit but hang in silent witness to the past. Occasionally, my wife will sell one for a song to a neighbor, or I will cart it to Goodwill, but it’s hard to let go.
I haven’t even gotten to the pegs on top of the coatrack! In reference to a favorite children’s book, it looks like the peddler dropped off his caps for sale, and the monkeys lost interest in snatching them. A trick is to plop the heavy bicycle helmets on top, which weighs down the whole stack of visors, baseball caps and sun hats.
A friend recently described his empty nest as “free of clutter,” and I noticed that he wasn’t celebrating. I think he was a little misty-eyed. It’s true that I could do a better job of organizing the mess; it’s perhaps truer that the clutter attests to the healthy lives of the people I love most in the world.
Now, where is my coat? It’s supposed to be cold today.