I've known poverty. I've known middle class. If I have my way, I will always have money for the dry cleaners.
As middle age descends, there's something refreshing about having a garment restored -- crisp and like new once again.
This acknowledgement is brought to you by the fact that I especially enjoy fashion's recent turn.
When so much of me doesn't move the way it once did (or too much does!), I enjoy the illusion of gracefulness that the current fabrics offer. The sight of a sleeve caught in the wind and dancing its own dance unmindful (because fabrics can't truly think no matter what those labels say about its having memory) of constraints pleases me.
As do the sparkles and beads that beckon to a time of passion and protest. My passions being somewhat dulled these days and the protests of my body overwhelming those of mind and spirit, I relish the wonder that what I wear makes me remember and sometimes become a bit more.