The Old Heavy Flannel Shirt

I was on the elevator running between meetings. I do not recall what it was or where I was going at the time. Whatever was “so important” suddenly was out-shadowed by an old heavy flannel shirt. That I can remember in detail.

As I stood on the elevator there was a woman coming from visiting a family member in the heart center. She had on multiple layers of clothing. The outermost one was an old heavy insulated flannel shirt. It was worn and faded and looked a bit thin in areas. She was “squishy”. She was older, somewhat weathered, and did not have on any makeup. She was not dirty. She was clean. Her hair was not fancy but not unkempt either. She was just herself.

I wore a business suit and dress shoes. My hospital ID badge was prominently displayed on my chest. My dress shirt was crisp. We stood in contrast of each other.

In an instant I envied her. 

My mind was suddenly pulled to imagining her life. I was back on the farm. I was in my grandparent’s house. There was clutter on the kitchen counter. Not unkempt but just the things of life. There was a cast iron frying pan on the stove with fried potatoes in it. There was a jar of Folger’s instant coffee on the dining room table. There was a stack of newspapers in the living room. Covers protected the sofas. A small television was on the one wall. It would get two or maybe three channels. My mind filled with the images and smells and sounds of the place. I longed to be back there.

It was winter. There was some work to do but it was not high pressure. After coffee and breakfast, they would be out in the garage grading apples. Their dog would come with them. Depending on the day they might take a mid-morning coffee break. They would certainly break and come inside for lunch. When the day ended so did the work. They would be in the house and would have dinner and watch Jeopardy and read the newspaper. They might have worries about the farm. But there also would be seasons when there was not as much to think or worry about. There would be times when life would be simpler.

They would be together in the warm house in the evening. They did not have to be dressed up. They could just be.

I remembered the hours working on the farm. My mind would drift off in a thousand directions as I worked. I would have adventures in my mind or solve great things in my mind as I worked. There was plenty of time to think as I went about my work. I can remember the times working on the tractor and getting into a groove. Sometimes I would just be. Other times I would think through stories or daydreams as I drove along in a repetitive pattern in the field.

The elevator doors opened, and the woman in the flannel shirt got off the elevator. I wanted to speak to her, but I had no idea what I would say. I wanted to tell her to celebrate the wonder of her life. I wanted to tell her that I envied her. I wanted to tell her of the wisdom of her manner of life. I somehow wanted to escape. That perhaps I could put on such a flannel shirt. That I could recapture the wisdom of simple things. That I could escape the complexities of a sophisticated life. That I could just be at home with my family, in a warm house, with nothing to do but watch what was on the 2 or 3 channels of television that would be available and accept that that would be enough.

When my grandfather died my family found several unworn dress shirts in his bedroom, many still in the boxes. It seems that each year when a birthday or Christmas would come around the family members would give him a new shirt. He would be appreciative of the gifts. But he had shirts that still had a lot of wear left in them. He didn’t need new shirts yet. He would wear them when they were needed. He didn’t need to wear a new shirt to be happy. 

Should we flee to the farm? For some that may be the answer. Escape to a place that is simpler. Wear old and worn but clean clothes. Eat breakfast in your own dining room every day. Go about your work with your dog by your side. Work with your hands. Let your mind have time to dream and be free. Be in your house for lunch and supper. Have a little too much clutter around. Have furniture that is not perfect but comfortable. Settle in for the evening at the end of the day.

Do we all need to flee to the farm? Is it just the farm that we seek? Is the farm really nirvana? Certainly, it carries with it its own worries and concerns.  Then what are we seeking? 

Perspective. Simplification. Margin. Family. Contentment.

It is not just one thing. It is more like a picture. You look at it and you like it. But trying to describe the feeling or the appeal in words can’t quite capture it. Perhaps you shouldn’t try to put it into words. I don’t know that I can get quite enough words to repaint the image or feeling that is in my mind.

There is a painting in the hospital by Mathias Alten called “Man with Wheelbarrow.” It is by one of the elevators. I really like it. I stand and look at it as I am forced to pause to wait for the elevator. It captures my mind and takes me to a place that I like to go.  In it is an older man with a wheelbarrow walking alone through a field. It captures what I am talking about. Nature. Quiet. Physical work. Not hurried. Doing the work of the moment. His mind is clear to think but not pressured.

I went into my next meeting. My mind followed the woman from the elevator. I actively participated in the meeting, but somehow, little things didn’t seem quite so important. Perspective. Simplify. Margin. Family. Contentment. 

The woman wore a heavy flannel shirt. It was old and worn but clean. It was still a perfectly good shirt. She was on her way home. I could smell and feel and imagine the home that she was returning to. It was not fancy. It likely had a bit too much clutter. The sofa and chairs had softened and were a bit broken down with age. But it was her home and her life. And it could be a happy place. In my mind I wished her well.

Your home, your family, your life, your world are all great gifts. Enjoy!