Final Report On Dressing For Kindness

Mostly packed, mostly ready to go. Down to Santa Barbara to see my mother. My stepfather is Swedish. Those Scandinavians do a dang good job of Christmas. Tonight we will eat Julbord, the Swedish Christmas dinner, and the Swedes and Americans will josh each other about herring in all its guises. Swedes eat it many ways. Tomatoes, sour cream, dear me.

I will be posting during this holiday week. Ordinarily I might post 4-5 times, the next few days will probably be lighter, but I’ll be here nonetheless.

One last thing I owe you before I get on the road. Remember when I said I would dress for a week thinking of other people’s feelings? And most of you said something like, “Other people probably won’t mind one way or the other?” Well, I did. And they didn’t.

I wore my gold flats to Home Depot to get the Christmas tree. You know, to honor the tree guys? Turns out they really just cared whether or not I got in the way of their buzz saw. And whether I said thank you, smiled, and gave them a tip. (That said, some people do show off. Whether out of constant competition, or sheer boredom with their wealth, I don’t know. Not necessary in the usual course of a day. No need to rub your good fortunes in others’ faces.) It turns out I am only at risk of wearing my son’s khakis too often. Yes. The horror. I haven’t built a day-to-day wardrobe to replace my corporate uniform, and I am simply not going to pull out my wide-legged linen pants with a cashmere cardigan, Manolo flats, and gold panda coin necklace, every morning. However, there is something to be said for putting on pants made for a woman, a 50-year old one at that, before heading out to dinner. Showing a little respect.

The final result of my week of dressing kindly? New yoga pants. What did you think, that I was evolved or something? New Lululemon yoga pants. Some black Adidas, a white or black t-shirt, my black $25 Chechua parka purchased at a sporting goods store in China, and I’m unlikely to offend anyone around here. I’ll even wear good jeans at restaurants. I promise.

Respect is good. So is getting out of the way of buzz saws. I reserve, however, the right to wear my son’s khakis for the 5-hour drive to Santa Barbara. May the spirit of the season be with you.