A reduced household, a grayer, chillier, wetter day, and the funeral of an Abbey colleague's 91-year-old mother, after I think a mercifully swift decline into Alzheimers. It was one of those funerals where people are sad but not unbearably so, where death –– while of course nobody welcomes it, exactly –– does not seem quite so much the outrage it is, and people can stand around talking reasonably normally, without the adrenalin-fueled brave-show that shock produces. Still, among the bereaved, you can tell that the exhaustion is on the verge of kicking in, and that that is as difficult a symptom of grief as emotional derangement.
Anyway.
We're home now, the kids are off someplace with the other car, and Dora has settled down with me on the couch after a little emotional derangement of her own, when sprung from her crate. I am grateful to have changed my clothes, and kicking myself for not wearing some dressier iteration of what I'm wearing now to the funeral.
What I did wear:
This thrifted navy Talbots fit-and-flare dress, which has been my go-to weddings-and-funerals dress, over a crop top because the bodice is low-cut, with my ThredUpped moss-green corduroy blazer, Snag tights in Slate, and very old black Mary Jane high heels. I was not jazzed about this outfit, but it was sober and unassuming, and I looked okay for somebody who had managed something like 45 minutes of deep sleep all night, according to her fitness band, and was feeling pretty undead, and not in a good way.
It was also cold. The weather is not, mind you, frigid. It's probably in the high 50s, but it's wet. The church was cold. It was raining at the graveside. My husband and I went to lunch after, and the restaurant was cold. I was cold. All I could think, all morning long, was Why didn't I wear a wool dress?
So I came home and changed. I also outboxed the navy dress. I've been very attached to it, but the bodice looks stretched-out to me, and overall the dress feels worn. I think it's done. It's a rayon knit, which I've always thought of as comfortable, but after my wool and bamboo dresses: reader, it is not that comfortable. So this was its last outing. I've had it a little over a year and worn it hard, on top of what was clearly a good bit of hard wear before I acquired it, but its time has come.
What I'm wearing now: WOOL.
My Sierra over the Ibex merino tee which came today from a Poshmark reseller, plus navy leggings, wool socks, and Birks. Since taking this photo I've also put on my secondhand teal cashmere cardigan. My plan for the afternoon is to lie on this couch with Dora and read the fourteenth Roderick Alleyn mystery, which so far mostly stars his wife the painter: a fabulous character in her own right. She's painting the portrait of an aging Shakespearean actor, in his grand house with his rambling and hostile family, plus his gold-digging young fiancée, the object of a good bit, though not all, of the familial hostility. What could possibly go wrong? I'm not being coy; I really don't know yet.
Anyway, gosh, it's good to be home in warm, snuggly clothes. Next time I will wear the Sierra to the funeral and skip the whole being-cold step.
I love this Ibex tee, by the way. If memory serves me, it's actually 100% merino. It's very light and fine, so will dress up nicely, and I can wear it with virtually anything else in my closet. The color is delicious. I think I paid $30, which feels like a steal.
So for a funeral I could wear Sierra with any of my blazers; this longline dark periwinkle blazer is sober enough, for example. Or I could have worn any one of these gray looks, but with heels. Actually, I could have worn boots, which I'd rejected as not quite funeral-y enough –– the daughter of the deceased was wearing Crocs. I don't know why I didn't do any of those things today, except that the Talbots dress has been such a stand-by . . .
Comfy now, though.