I’m pretty sure I don’t need Al Gore to tell me that global climate change is actually happening. All I have to do is look in my closet, where what I have always considered the natural order of things has been turned on its head.
We all read the stories, right? An unusually warm winter, almost no snowfall in the east. Retailers dumping winter merchandise at unheard-of discounts. Mom was a beneficiary, scoring a three-quarter length North Face coat at almost 30 percent off, though she only got to wear it once or twice this season.
But when temps reached into the 70s in March, the idea of wearing even my most-favorite sweaters made my skin crawl, so reluctantly, I reached into my closet and opened the seals on my space-saver bags. I felt a pang of regret as I watched the plastic puff up again with air, and I began digging out the blouses and t-shirts I usually retrieve sometime in May.
Everyone seemed to be enjoying the warm weather and relishing the chance to walk around in flip-flops and t-shirts. But to me it didn’t feel right at all. The black linen shirt I bought last year in Maine? My grey J. Crew blouse? Cropped pants? I love them all, but it isn’t supposed to be their time yet. I mean, I barely got to enjoy my knee-high lace-up boots or my wool Banana Republic blazer. I got to wear my favorite cropped black and white wool jacket and my pink Barney’s sweater exactly one time this season.
Yet, it doesn’t feel right to put my winter clothes away either. I mean, I still remember a time when you had to dress for snow in early May. How can the season for my grey, A-line cut, turtleneck sweater already be over — before it even began?
Sure, I know the Arctic sea ice is melting– but I’m not there to witness it. But when I have two seasons of clothes in my closet at once, that’s when I know global climate change is happening for real.