We each develop our own little peculiar set of branded clothes for our daily lives. One of our Torah readers wears her favorite blue suit when she reads Torah for special occasions. Idiosyncratic dressing gives friends visual clues to how we feel or what we think. They never breathe plastic-coated air. I wear these dresses and happy suits to Moshe's Bar Mitzvah, Pat and Marianne's wedding, birthday parties, and concerts, to places and with people who make me feel alive, wanted, connected.
Glad rags survive little nicks in the lace or tiny tears in a hem.
Glad rags beg to be embraced, held close, twirled in a circle, taken outside under the stars. The best of the glad rags tolerate chocolate stains, children's kisses, and tears. Because sometimes sorrow follows closely on the heels of our sweetest joys. The dancing stops, and the holding close continues. The parts of life I remember longest are the times I spend in my glad rags, hearing the segue into minor refrains, wide open to the kabbalah of community, the promenade.