Pants reincarnate

Several years ago, while living at the Franklin house in Stevens Point with several other amazing women, a small trip was taken up to Wausau. There was probably lunch. Maybe a movie and the mall. But usually trips to Wausau were not complete without a stop at a tiny little vintage store and boutique called Uncle Oscars. I had found an amazing red fedora on past excursions, as well as costumes for shows, tiny tidbits to add to my own collection and a plethora of ideas from item both vintage and brand new. We loved that store. Pricey at times, but it always yielded an hour or so of enjoyment, if not a purchase or two.

This one trip yielded the pants. Fitted, but not tight. A bit of stretch. Attractively cut. A fun bit of hardware in the front offered a place to clip my keys. And the fabric....an understated purple with broad bands of brown pinstripes. I adored them at first sight. I was so taken in fact, that I missed the skirts of the same fabric hanging just a breadth away. My roommate beat me to the skirts. I in turn opted for the pants, but only after hemming and hawing over the price. Now...nearly seven years later, I'd vouch that the sixty or seventy some dollars was well spent.

Over the course of the next year and a half the freshmen fifteen finally caught up with me, and the pants faithfully continued to fit my creeping waistline.

They followed me to grad school where the weight was quickly burned off by stress, lack of time and copious amounts of walking. They continued to flatter, albeit staying up by the aide of a belt.

At some point during those three years in Jersey, I managed to kneel in a small puddle of gesso on my office floor, while wearing said pants, of course. The abstract little white stains on the left shins could not detour me from wearing my favorite garment.

Even with said spot, these are the only pants I owned to have illicit compliments and questions of origin. From costume designers and random strangers no less.

These year they have entered they last stage of life. They saw the bad side of a messy day of paint slinging while costumes for MacBeth were distressed. Unlike the perky white stain from years past, these paint stains only served to make them look muddy and unwashed. I was content to save them for other such messy projects in the future, though it broke my heart a little to think on it.

But alas, the inseams had seen better times. Thin spots were starting to wear into holes. Darning and patching no longer sufficed.

But I refused to set aside my favorite garment as of yet. Too many happy memories...particularly of the situation that led me to find them in the first place. Too faithful...no other pants managed to keep up with my waist fluctuation with such ease and minimal maintenance. Too attached.

So now they are reincarnate. The inseams opened. seams stitched down in the front and back, extra length cut off and creatively reattached (carefully avoiding the worst of the stains from the MacBeth distress)...a skirt is in the works. A skirt to buy me yet another few years of enjoyment.

And the memories walk on.