Why do I have so many winter clothes in my closet? November is here and in Phoenix the daily temperature is still in the high 80s. The last thing I need is wooly mittens. The ones I’m looking at are over forty years old, almost antiques.
Believe it or not, when I first moved to Arizona, I did wear coats and hats and…okay, no mittens. The mittens are left over from California and skis trips and beyond.
The custom-made skis and the expensive Italian ski boots I sold a long time ago, lost my fur parka to a house fire, but the mittens are still in my special drawer.
I put on the left one and noticed three small holes. My grandmother would blame moths…I don’t even know if we have moths in Phoenix and if we do, how did they find their way into my secret drawer, the one with precious memories and a piece of my heart?
You see, these mittens were made for me. No tags of fiber content and no country of origin. The mittens were hand knitted. Hands with frail, thin skin, hands with age spots and brittle nails. The loving hands of my grandmother.