Eloise loved candy. She ate candy, drank candy, breathed, dreamed, and lived candy.
One day her mother said, "Eloise, if you're going to spend all your time on candy, could you at least make something of it?"
Eloise thought hard and long. Thinking about candy was easy, but thinking of something to make of it was new and hard.
Eloise went to her room to think. Before she knew what she was doing she had started up her cotton candy machine. It was while staring into the machine at the great pink swaths of spun sugar and feeling the encompassing warmth from the soft confection that an idea was formed.
The next morning at breakfast Eloise had a brand new coat.
I wore this and felt , even briefly, like water. This was in Bogota. We went to save a marriage: not ours, but our son's. His wife had lost the third baby. In as many years.
Why Bogota? What did we think would help her there?
Mostly mosquitoes and quiet and disgruntled tour guides.
But I felt like water.
My aunt and uncle lived outside of town in a small house on a big piece of land. Every year at Easter we would visit. The night before Easter we would all color eggs. We would balance them on spoons and dip them into warm dye. The next morning the parents would send all the kids into my cousins bedroom and tell us not to come out until they called. They would hide colored eggs all around the yard. We could hardly wait for the treasure hunt to begin.
One Easter I found a perfect white egg in the hen house. Not unusual, except that this egg was made of stone. I thought I'd found the most special egg and I ran to my mom to show her my treasure. She told me that the egg had to go back into the hen house, it wasn't part of the Easter egg hunt. I didn't understand so I asked again if I could keep it. She said, "No, it needs to go back, now". This seemed unfair and made me angry so I sat down on the porch step to pout. She walked back to where I was sitting and squatted down and looked into my face and said, "This egg is for snakes. They swallow chicken eggs whole but when they swallow this stone egg it sticks in their stomach and they die." Tears welled in my eyes. Mom gently opened my hand and took the white stone egg. She carried it back to the hen house. I watched her stoop down as she climbed in through the small red door then I turned and watched all my cousins filling their baskets with all those pretty colored eggs.
The older we get, the more we understand the human body: its changing forms, feels, and smells. When I fell in love with my first big man I couldn't see him that way at all. The older we get the more shapes we start to see. The shape of a laugh, a sigh, an honest and effortless "thank you". That's the form that stole my heart, my aging, shaping heart.
These are my BBQ shorts. I only eat BBQ in these shorts. That way, if the sauce squirts on me, I can wipe it off my legs and lick it. It's important not to waste BBQ sauce, especially during a recession. I am a man.
I grew up in Trenton, NJ. I am now fifty-five. We were some of the first Indians in NJ - my family. When I was twenty-two, my family married me to a doctor from Delhi. He moved to NJ after marrying me. I got this shirt from my mother in-law on my wedding night. She said it was hers, but she had another just like it. She didn't tell me her doctor-son had another wife and an entire family in India. He was planning to keep two families on two continents. A year after our wedding, I left him. But I could never throw away this shirt. I want to be wearing it when I die.
The lake was wide and the wind was blowing hard. We were stuck out in the middle. The motor had stopped working, fouled fuel line. Now we were trying to make it to shore with the one paddle we had. We were both freezing. I gave him my jacket to put over his sweatshirt. At least one of us would be warm.
As a child I wished that I could fly. My mother told me that a special day would come and on that day all my wishes would come true. On my wedding night as I lay next to my sleeping husband, our marriage not yet a day old, I closed my eyes and wished again that I could fly.
I miss my brother. I miss his bad character, the dark way he looks at life. He is really sweet and tender at heart.
This could be his shirt...old, with holes, birds, and a free spirit looking.
Hope you'll enjoy this shirt and you'll call your sister if you've got one.
Once there was an elf who loved the sun. She gardened in it every day. She played with the other elves under its rays and told it her thoughts and feelings throughout the day. Even at night the elf would whisper to the moon in hopes it would pass her secrets to the sun.
When the elf was grown she was given a job like all the other elves. She was sent to work in elf headquarters, answering phones and typing. She hated typing. She wanted to run in the grass and talk to the sun. They told her she couldn't wear her old clothes anymore. Now that she was grown she needed to act like it to earn her name.
She cried and cried, but did as they said and began making a dress. She chose yellow thread to weave the fabric from and began to work. Since she couldn't see the sun anymore, she talked to the dress.
When her dress was finished she wore it everyday. She worked in it, slept in it, and ate in it. On the day of naming the elf walked into the woods with the other nameless elves and the elders.
When they reached a clearing filled with the sun's rays a booming voice rang out. Warm and full of comfort, "Sunny, I have missed you. Why have you not played in the day? From now on your job will be to worship me and my name is now yours. Run free."
When I was young my Mom was single. She often wore leopard print.
Tormented. My Mother use to dress me as a girl all the time. Until Puberty then I found myself and What my real sex is "A Boy". This reminds me of the days when I was Mommy's Little Girl.
He bought me a small. I'm clearly a large. Not sure if I should be angry that he didn't know me or happy 'cause he sees me as small.
Laura and I were friends starting in kindergarten. Near the end of our senior year of high school, she fell in love and got pregnant. She got married a few weeks after high school graduation. The wedding was simple and her colors were navy and white. My mother made me this dress to wear as her maid of honor. Years later she got divorced and a few years later remarried. Though we emailed regularly leading up to the ceremony, I was not invited to her second wedding. As we approach 40, we're only friends on Facebook and normally our only contact is to post "Happy Birthday" on each other's pages.
I'm also into leather.
Clothes Stories (phase 1)
Clothes Stories (phase 1)
Clothes Stories is an ever-growing anthology of writings all related to garments and outfits. The stories in the collection are both factual and fictitious. In the collection you will find personal histories, flash fictions, family anecdotes, revealing testimonials, one page plays, portraits and diagrams - all manner of recollection and associations made up of memories, hopes, desires, and dreams. This ever-growing compendium connects people through the clothes we wear and the stories we tell.
Here is the link to a short documentary made by KLRU which describes the project: