Friday thing : garage sale sweater

My first (only) brush with cashmere.

I have always loved garage sales. It used to be a weekly activity in the summers when I was growing up: circling the most inviting ads in the newspaper, mapping out an efficient driving plan, counting my babysitting money & collecting spare change around the house. And then actually going to the sales - feeling a nervous excited flutter as we pulled up to a driveway full of smartly arranged miscellany: Would there be a book or album I’d been wanting? Maybe an unwanted new gift set of Love’s Baby Soft? GUESS jeans in exactly my size? Often yes to books & albums, unfortunately never on the other things¹. But it was always a glorious time of anticipation and hunting with my mom and grandma, sometimes my sister and a cousin or two. We usually stopped for burgers at midday, occasionally got ice cream also if the day was particularly fruitful.

I raised my kids with this tradition and can still be blissfully distracted from errands by a well-placed sign. My most favorite thing to see is a Neighborhood Sale where I can park and walk around, finding untold treasures in one stop. That is how I came upon my beloved Morning Sweater.

Much-loved soft things.

On this fated afternoon, I stepped into a dim garage sparsely set up with folding tables holding a few garments and some kitchen items. Not terrifically promising but still, I browsed. As I turned to go, my eye caught an unassuming sweater listlessly folded; it was dull concrete grey yet I felt compelled to touch it. Soft like a silk ribbon, light as air. The Banana Republic tag claimed a cashmere blend, but its garage sale sticker said $1.50. I asked the man near the money box if the price was correct. In my memory he looked like Jeffrey Wright, a kindly aloof face slightly annoyed at my question. I’m guessing his wife, former owner of the garment in my hopeful hand, told him they were participating in the neighborhood sale but he would have to manage it because she had book group that afternoon. With a sigh he told me if the tag said $1.50, that was the price. Then he warily asked to see the sweater, as if he might find that it was actually a much more expensive item and I was trying to fool him in his resentful stupor. I handed it to him, he nodded approvingly, and I gave him six quarters from my coin purse.

It has been at least a decade since I brought home this luxury. It turned out a bit boxy for me and I did discover a tiny hole in one armpit, probably the reasons why I started wearing it only over pajamas. But this means I get to experience its bewitching softness and unexpected warmth every day, and it is finally showing its age. That tiny hole became a bigger one that my mom and my now-daughter in law have both repaired at different times. Last week I discovered a mysterious tear exposing my left elbow; I’m legitimately considering a leather patch to cover it.

I’ve bought a few things for myself that I consider lavish splurges, but cashmere isn’t one of them - it has always felt like a precious fabric, one I would have to treat so carefully I couldn’t fully enjoy it. Finding this sweater for less than what my grandpa would have paid for coffee without complaining is like magic, and getting to wear it every morning on my chilly porch with tea and a book is even better.

1. Minor brag: As an adult, I have found some KUT from the Kloth jeans that fit beautifully, only $2, and a pair of Lucky jeans that went into an end-of-sale $1 bag with a bunch of t-shirts and sweaters