Saturday, May 04, 2019
I could ask someone else to do it-to fold them and bag them up. But clothes were very important to him and so now they are important to me. Folding each piece carefully as if he will be judged by their presentation at a donation center.
He had beautiful shirts. None were just a dull oxford blue. They were peacock colors, dozens of them Linen, a special favorite. Hell to iron though.
The same with the sweaters, Cashmere. Fitted.
He was not an extravagant man in any way, but he loved looking nice. A friend referred to him as dapper. That's about as close to it as I can get. I have heard stories about widows holding onto things years later. It always seemed crazy until now.