Lillian Gardella
It’s a cacophony. Casual, formal, athletic, professional, and leisure, all living semi-harmoniously in the small space in a mixture of warm and cold. Formal clothes have tended to move further to the rear when we moved to Alaska. They aren’t required much these days. There was a time when the cleaned and bagged dresses hanging in the back were routinely worn for balls, ceremonies, or graduations thrown by the U.S. Air Force. It was a time when glitter and glam weren’t required to conform to snow and ice, and the favored satin-navy strapless tiered gown could be worn without a sweater or boots, while you carry in the accompanying heels to the gown after your boots could safely be removed indoors. That beautiful gown is the most expensive piece here in price, though not in sentimentality. Such honor and emotion are reserved for a pale pink, sheer lace gown, significantly cheaper in price, though not value, worn only once. That gown, all the way in the back, was worn when two lives were promised to each other in a small backyard ceremony in Washington D.C. That beauty arrived the day before the ceremony, causing anxiety, stress, and the sheer hope that she would fit properly. Thankfully she did.
Leisurely clothing has taken center stage, where professional attire had been worn for so long, while work was made remote with the global shift that happened during COVID. Blazers, tops, and dress pants, all neatly hung, slowly move further and further back toward formal wear while sweatshirts and leggings creep to the center. Those dress pants still occasionally make their way out for the required meetings. Everyone is hoping and praying they still fit, despite the lack of elasticity and generous allowances leggings provide. Shelves were put in at one point to help with space and organization, but that was clearly decided in a moment of pure organizational optimism. This is the one area of the house that image, presentation, design, and functionality do not matter. The one place where freedom and relaxation are able to just be. Oh, once in a blue moon a wild hair sprouts or spring-cleaning hits, and a purge takes place, Generally, we are able to just be ourselves, a beautiful blend of style and function. The colors pretty much coincide, gray, black, brown, green, and some blue. It was not the green and blue of summer, but the green and blue of
late fall; muted, musty, subdued. Bright color does not live here. There are a few pieces, but they are rarely chosen and usually succumb to the annual purge; off to try out another location hoping to be chosen from the herd. Doors were removed due to their confining nature, allowing light and air to move freely. Sometimes, shoes come to settle for a visit, usually the summer sandals, though they are pulled from their winter slumber in January for a brief time. Among them a pair of blue braided sandals that were accidentally stolen from Target many years ago. It was a casual stroll through those isles with a toddler and infant. However, is there such a thing as a casual stroll with a toddler and infant? We were looking among the clothes and shoes for new additions to our then home in Maryland and using the stroller as a shopping cart. There was a forgotten pair of strappy deep blue summer flats at checkout, buried in the hidden cave under the baby seat. They weren’t discovered for several days, until the stroller was unfolded for another use, much to the embarrassment of the lady. The error was made right, but every time those sandals came out, it was a funny reminder of how they came to be here.
Boots and tennis shoes never stop in. They are out and about throughout the year and even multiple times a day, maintaining their residence in the arctic entry. Some of the heartier boots find a summer home under the stairs. That space is similar to ours, though far less used and terribly dark with an incredible variety of objects. Under-the-stairs, there is hosted memorabilia, tents, suitcases, Christmas items and even “the cone of shame” for our furry friend. It is a dangerous place, under-the-stairs. One can easily be smothered under a box or sleeping bag, notable to see daylight for months, or possibly years. Apparently, there is a goblin-type creature, related to the dryer goblin, that steals gloves and mittens, though only one of each pair. No one has ever seen the goblin, yet it must be there. Same with the dryer goblin and socks. How else to explain the mystery of only one glove? Winter arriving opens under-the-stairs to which everything is pulled out, tried on, sorted and passed along if necessary. It is a seasonal life in under-the-stairs.
Heels are the extended stayers, becoming dusty and decrepit on their high shelf. Only two pairs remain, one classic black and one strappy gold, though they haven’t been taken down in years. Alaska holds a different standard for footwear. A dress and boots are perfectly acceptable; ladies choose Xtratufs for their wedding day to pair with their dress. The years in Alaska have had their influence, and Birkenstocks or flats are chosen more often for occasions where heels used to be standard.
It’s an exciting place to be, our home. There is a steady stream of new that comes, intermixed with the classic go-tos. We are a lucky bunch, clean and loved and often shared with a few other members of the household that can’t find what they are desiring in their own cacophonies. We go about with them for a bit until eventually, hopefully, we make our way back to our original home.