In the closet.
Portland is a city of hoods. I am not talking about gangs or quaint residential areas but something very practical: rain gear. For the majority of the year I’d be miserable, instead of fairly unfazed, if not for my tried and true, knee-length, lined, washable (ignore the label), black hooded raincoat. Carry an umbrella around and people assume you are either a tourist or a Californian.
Ditching an umbrella is even more practical in Oklahoma where stronger winds blow heavier rains sideways. In the Tulsa Airport I spotted a woman in my very same raincoat. “Norm Thompson?” I paused to ask. “Yes!” was the reply. We’d both shopped online two years earlier – while both living in Portland. What are the chances?
Raincoats don’t seem to go on sale in the Northwest (I have my cap set for a Mycra Pac full-length, if they do) but they are retired to the closet during the dry season. I was hanging my faithful companion up this month when I noticed my wedding dress. 
Call me curious. I decided to try on the dress I hadn’t worn for almost 23 years to the day. On our first anniversary I was pregnant and outfitted in a lovely, shimmery tent, but on our second anniversary I switched out the white wedding day pumps for silver evening shoes and headed to a Tulsa Opera spring production, elegantly dressed in a tea-length, strapless gown. If only bridesmaid dresses in the late 80’s had been so, well, so – practical!
As I slipped into the dress I imagined an extra three pounds of weight would show as much in a dress as under a hooded raincoat. I was wrong! Above my waist the two sides of the zipper didn’t have a chance of meeting. Unless the gravity factor associated with aging and weight gain has reversed itself, I can only reason that my rib cage has expanded over the years to fit the much bigger, fuller, compassionate heart that once belonged to a young woman just opening her heart to love.