Everything old is new (to me) again

The Scalia speech Monday was pretty cool. He's a witty guy. And I found non-18th Century clothes to wear to the event: a gray tweed skirt and black blazer. I didn't even know I owned a gray tweed skirt.

... which brings me to my next point.

We have a room in our house that had become a black hole of boxes, sucking into it everything that hadn't been unpacked when we moved into the house. A few boxes -- and I'm ashamed to even say this -- were from our first apartment and weren't unpacked during the entire time we were in our last apartment.

Clothes, computer parts, wedding gifts we didn't have room to display ... everything was in boxes. In a Not-Really-Spring Cleaning blitz (it was more like the beginning of summer), we began sorting through many of the boxes with the goal of one big honkin' charity donation of clothes and miscellany.

Sunday night, I excavated a lost civilization. Four boxes of my clothes apparently escaped the apartment-to-house move in late 2004 and the cleaning earlier this year. Four boxes. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew I owned more clothes than the ones hanging in the closet (and, admittedly, covering parts of the floor -- but you didn't hear that from me). And these were cute clothes, too!

But the big find was the collection of hoodies I amassed a few years ago during my "I'm not buying that unless it has a hood" phase. It was a time in my life kind of like Picasso's blue period, but with cute headgear attached to the back. And now I've re-entered hoodie heaven with this find.

I wore the black one today. I looked good ... at least in my head. I didn't ask anyone else if they liked my hoodie, because I don't really care. Well, I do care -- too much for my own good -- but I didn't ask anyway. I think I'll wear the gray one tomorrow. And then the blue one. And then the pink one (surprise, I own something pink). And eventually I'll make it through the box and a half of hoodies and can move on to the next fashion phase that's been tucked away upstairs.

Finding those boxes was like, as the saying goes, Christmas in July. Except this is more like Christmas in December. Or Christmas nine days before Christmas. But that sounds kind of lame, doesn't it?