Made from the skirt of a dress I adored and which I wish with all my heart (but not enough to exercise) would still fit me today, I cut and hand stitched this bright red wool cape, complete with cord ties. It was originally part of a Bionic Bunny costume when Son Number One was about four years old. It never actually got put away after that. In a normal home the room off the kitchen would be the den. There's a television, and DVDs, and a reasonably comfy couch. In our home it is and has always been known as "The Pirate Room" from the days when Fisher Price cannon balls sailed across it day and (k)night. There were castles and cannons, pirates and dragons all over the place. These now reside in the attic waiting for the next generation. I couldn't bear to give them away. But there is still a coat rack in the corner of the room with a bowler hat, one of Himself's old suit coats, canes, and various other props for dress up. If you ever need a quick costume, I am your "go to" girl. The red cape hung on this hook for ages. I haven't seen it in what feels like a century.
There it was, on the floor of the closet, buried under the Star Wars bath towel. I had a vague memory of his having taken it to college with him last year for some really obscure costume, but I haven't given it much thought since them. And here it is, like an old friend. It heartens me that it's still part of his arsenal of "important stuff" which just doesn't get put away. Ever. Underneath that stubbly beard, deep voice, and swaggering gait, my baby is still in there someplace. Hallelujah! Like the dress that became a cape, it's all one piece. We're all one piece. We change and mutate, but it's still all in there, somewhere; our histories, our whimsies, our joys. They're never really lost. Sometimes you just have to move the Star Wars bath towel to find them.