But sweaters? I love them. I trace the origin of this affection to my Aunt Irene. She really rocked the twinset in the sixties. Light green, pale yellow, winter white. Some had buttons made of seashells, others were decorated with rhinestones around the shoulders. I'd climb onto her lap and play with the 'pretties' on her sweater. She had two sons and would preen over me; all the while I was coveting her sweater!
In junior high the sweater was immortalized in a schoolyard ditty:
We must - we must - we must increase the bust. The bigger the better - the tighter the sweater - Yeah Bust!Early training for girls to view themselves as objects. Sang aloud while flexing our pecs. In retrospect I am appalled at this and other insidious ways young girls were indoctrinated to please men. Have a body that is acceptable to society. Model perfect. I had a boyfriend who called me jukebox Jane because of my vast knowledge of jingles and songs to fit any occasion. Rest assured this is not a tune my grandchildren will hear coming from me.
The first sweater I truly loved was a Fisherman Knit from Ireland. My mom bought this treasure at Gimbels, where my dad worked. She may have enjoyed the 25% employee discount undoubtedly bestowed upon her purchase. I however was in love with the cable knit. The ever so slightly off-white color. The way it was tight, but comfy. Remember pointed collars coming out of the necks of our sweaters? And the cuffs playing peek-a-boo? I would wear a flannel shirt under this warm article of clothing, don my Frye boots... I was styling! When I moved to Colorado this sweater came with me. And when I outgrew it (a/k/a gained weight), I kept it for a long while. It reminded me of my mom, working alongside my dad in the department store, walking the avenues in NYC - young and confident. In one of my many moves along the front range, I finally admitted it was never to be worn again and I gifted it to the Goodwill.
Colorado is the land of ever changing weather, so next up was cardigans. Easy to get on and off. No messing up my hair. I have a zippered beauty from Norway that was my Dad's. It is dark blue with the requisite winter motif adorning the sides of the zipper. It is tight-knit and really warm. Made of wool. I refuse to relinquish it to the dry cleaner because it still has the faint smell of my dad, even though he has been gone for more than 25 years. The warmth I feel when I don this sweater has more to do with love than sheep.
I did own two pullovers that I finally parted with at the end of last winter. One I dubbed Ice -Rink Pink. It was lovely, and I did wear it once at the ice arena on the Colorado College campus. My friend Randy was re-teaching me the childhood skill of ice skating. I envisioned him skating backward, gently pulling me along. He was more of a get out on the glassy middle and enjoy the ice kind of guy. I had a successful skate, gliding and feeling that cool breeze, but I haven't laced up since.
The other was teal green. It was pilling and out of shape and I didn't let go easily. But I profess to minimalism, so out it went. I keep reminding myself that I can only wear one sweater at a time. Actually that is not true, I've been know to wear an cardigan over a pullover... Anyway, when I purchased or was gifted, or had dug out of my daughters' reject piles a few new jumpers, a couple of older ones had to go.
Sweaters are used to admonish cold people - Put on a sweater! We've all heard that especially as kids. The word is a slant rhyme enjoyed by poets and marketers: Sweater Weather. Each Christmas sweaters are deemed ugly and contests abound. Mr. Rogers wore his cardigan in every episode.
For me they are practical and pretty. Warm and simple. Itchy and soft. I think I'll wear a purloined purple pullover today.
Time to Write,
Jane
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