Wear the Pink Coat

Yesterday — in the middle of April, the week before Easter — I woke up to a blizzard.  The snow didn’t last even half the day but it reminded me of an Easter when I was about nine.  In far northern Wisconsin where I grew up, it had been springlike — but an unexpected foot and a half of snow fell, the night before Easter.  In the morning, the roads weren’t plowed and our family walked the four or five blocks to church, through deep ruts made by the few vehicles that had made it through.  It was the 1950’s and I had a new outfit for Easter — a brightly colored coat, a hat, even some little lace trimmed white gloves.  When my mother saw all the snow, she decided we should save our Easter finery for the next week, when nicer weather would likely be back. I was extremely disappointed but we put on our winter coats and boots and trudged off.  When we got to church, most of the people had made the same decision but shortly before the service started, one of my friends came in, along with her whole family — everyone dressed in their new Easter outfits.  I remember looking with envy at my friend in her pink jacket, her hat and white patent leather shoes and that morning, I very much longed for a less sensible family. Over the years the memory has served me well. Forget the practical solution if you can. Wear that new pink coat.

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