The Raincoat

While I was visiting my parents and family briefly for the holidays, my mom directed me to a particular closet where she thought some of the coats that had ended up might be mine.

Once upon a time, I had moved to Minnesota for graduate school when my parents left the home I spent most of my childhood in to move to a new place.  I think I was still working at Borders (minimum wage-type customer service job), so no way could I afford to go home and pack or help or anything.  Some important things got thrown away, but many things ended up in bins in the basement of the new house.  When I visited the new house, I was looking for some coats that I thought I could bring to Minnesota with me, and they were nowhere to be found.

It was a great mystery.  Where did the coats go?  Nobody knew.  We eventually figured they must have gone to Goodwill by accident, so probably someone was enjoying them out in the world.

Fast forward nearly two decades.  They mysteriously appeared in this basement closet we had all looked through multiple times, including when my sister living at home left, at which point it was completely cleaned out.

Yet here were these coats I had not seen since 2003.

I cannot tell you how little room I had in my luggage.  I had checked a bag with my carry on inside, so I could pick up stuff I had shipped to my parents house, so I could bring it back to Canada because it didn't exist in Canada / I hadn't had room in my luggage when I moved to Canada.

But it had rained almost constantly and, when it wasn't raining, the wind cut through my fall coat like it wasn't even there.  I could sure use some sort of wind-proof coat.

And there, in the closet, was a MASSIVE green raincoat.  The lining inside was red plaid.  There was a tear in the lining by one of the pockets, and one of the snaps had come off and was in the pocket.  And I suddenly felt like this must have been the coat that I wore in Oxford when I studied there in 1999.  I had this visceral series of memories.  I remembered how careful I had to be with the snaps after that first one came off in my hands and how irritated I was when the coat tore by the pocket (so early on).  I remembered how overheated I would get when I walked the two miles from my lodging to the CMRS building for classes in the rain, how I would feel like I was steaming when I stepped into the shop to get a tiny quiche Lorraine for breakfast, how hard it was to wrestle my backpack on over the stiff, waterproof plastic.  I could almost hear the inevitable "Blue" as I ducked through the mall to get to the semi-hidden entrance.  That song played everywhere all the time that autumn.

And I honestly have no idea if any of these memories are true.  I don't have access to my pictures while I'min Canada, but even if I did, I had a regular camera and selfies weren't a thing, so I have no idea if there is any photographic evidence anywhere of my coat choices.  It could have been my sister's coat, and I could have made all those things up.  But if it was true, it went with me on my last, long-term other-country adventure, and it felt a bit like destiny for it to suddenly turn up after decades of disappearance right at the moment when I was on a long-term other-country adventure.

The coat was huge and far too hot, but I decided I could wear it on the plane and cram my autumn jacket in the 2 inches remaining in the suitcase.  Which was, of course, overweight.

The coat is still a little too hot and stuffy, as it was made of cheap materials before "breathability" was a thing, but it is perfect for going out for a walk in the rain or the wind and covers my knee brace, so people stare at it less.  (It also somehow has a blood feud with said knee brace and manages to somehow rip one of the strong velcro straps off its place to catch on the lining, and the lining collects on all the exposed velcro like pet hair.) 

And, yes, it does match my hair.  #Destiny