The dependable bed of coats
disappeared from our home during the holidays the last few years. We switched
from small intimate gatherings to large catered affairs, where coats would be
whisked away by a smiling black tie server and replaced with a numbered ticket
in our guest’s hand. It was all so grownup. But I confess that during these
parties I would go upstairs to freshen my lipstick and as I glanced at our
perfectly made bed with its plumped pillows and coverlet pulled taught, it
looked decidedly bored. It seemed to be wanting for its own version of a
holiday duvet. A Holivet as it were.
My cousin’s Scott and Lorette had their annual family Christmas
party yesterday. As it was winding down, I went upstairs with my brother to the
bed of coats to try and extract my Mom’s
black coat from the sixty-seven other black coats. It took us three tries, but
we had lots of laughs before we hit it. Never mind the fun of checking out the
other coats without actually feeling the pressure and desire to purchase one.
I can recall from both memory and family photos, falling asleep
on the bed of coats as a kid, the
sounds of the party becoming the soundtrack of my dreams. Maybe that’s one of
the reasons I love Sinatra.
And I can’t help but think that maybe the coats are having their
own holiday party. You gotta know that the tan cashmere is eyeing the black
leather bomber jacket. And you can bet
that some skanky mitten is slipping her fuzz into the lower wallet end of a
herringbone tweed car coat. The satin evening cape is spread across the
pillows, tag exposed, lining crushed.
Plaid felt sleeves are entangled in the back slit of an organic wool
jacket, even though every coat there knows it came to the party with the
fleece-lined windbreaker.
The recently purchased vintage reclaimed fur is looking down its
nose at the ten-year-old trench with frayed cuffs, although it would kill to
cop a feel of its lining. The organic wool peacoats are getting stoned and the
hockey jackets are hoping they’ll slip off the bed so they can grab a glimpse
of the game playing in the den with the sound turned off.
Bed of Coats means one
thing. There’s a party goin’ on!
Barbara: Oh, Deb, I love this. You’ve just turned an ordinary
thing—a possible mishmash or mess or blight on the lovely cleanness of a
bed—and made me look at it through your charming eyes. Because you’re right! A
bed of coats is all these things. It
represents your friends and loved ones gathered close; it is every walk of life
thrown together, regardless of status or style; it is no-holds-barred
connection. I will never look at the bed of coats in the same way. Now I will
see something sweet and heartwarming. And oh so devilishly funny as I imagine
the shenanigans this seemingly haphazard, certainly cozy group of coats might
be getting up to. And PS: I LOVE the holivet!!
