THE DRESS

A’Musing Monday Haints

Okay. So. Here’s a story for you.

Nov 16, 2025: No matter how you cut it, coming or going from my house means climbing a steep hill. It’s the kind of hill that requires so much focus that my brain usually turns off for a while. But not today. Today my brain was on a hamster wheel about a little coinky-dinky that happened earlier as my bowels were trying to figure out how best to work without all their parts. (More on that later…)

Rewind to toilet time: I opened up Libby on my phone. Actual books left the premises shortly after I got a puppy. If you’ve had a pup, you know why I no longer check out books from the IRL library. I’d finished the cozy mystery I was reading and was ready for the next in the series but…someone had already checked it out! Argh. How was I going to get through this waiting game?

Luckily, I had a notice that a new issue of one of the few magazines I subscribe to had arrived—La Maison Something Something (it’s French; I only remember the La Maison part, which means “house”). Yep, you guessed it. An interior design magazine.

I was immediately drawn in. So many beautiful images. One was of a room with this peculiar shade of green cabinets paired with a black quartz countertop. I had just seen this combo in a real estate listing and thought: Good god. Who chose those? But in the magazine it looked gorgeous, set against a William-Morris-inspired wallpaper. And I thought: “Wow. I actually love that.” Which made me think back to that house and reconsider it as an option.

It was synchronicity. The Universe speaking to me: don’t dismiss that option.

Meanwhile, my dog had been waiting (im)patiently for me to finish my morning ablutions and was confused about why we weren’t still asleep. (Unexpected early morning vet visit for the cat.) But in her mind, if we’re not asleep, we should be doing something. Rather than fight it, I took her for a walk. Beautiful fall morning. We don’t get many of those. (Plus, I really didn’t want to deal with the barking if we didn’t go. Nor did the cat, who condition was stress-related and whom was already stressed out from his early-morning vet visit.)

The Walk: So, Nettie and I take off on our grand adventure—even a 20-minute walk is a grand adventure when you’re still recovering from 18 months of cancer treatments and surgeries. I’m trudging. Nettie is hopping and sniffing. My brain is still spinning on the Green-and-Black Cabinet Synchronicity, trying to intellectualize (meaning nix) the idea that the universe was helping me out.

Oh! Did I mention I was tired and didn’t have the energy to deal with people or other dogs, so I’d asked God to arrange this walk for us as we walked out the door?

Okay. Trudging. Sniffing. We crest the hill, and I look up and—wham! Where the stop sign usually is…there is a stop sign with a dress hanging on it. (We can talk about the safety implications of that in the future.)

If you live somewhere else, you may be thinking: that’s weird.
If you live here, you’re probably thinking: and?

Here’s the “and.”
THE DRESS was mine.

What???

THE DRESS origins: Let’s back up. This was not an ordinary dress. This was a costume I wore in a play around 1991 at the University of Texas at Dallas, starring myself, a thirteen-year-old Nick Stahl (who had just shot The Man Without a Face with Mel Gibson and would later star in Terminator 3 and In the Bedroom), and TJ Thyne (who would go on to mass stardom for his role as Hodgins in Bones). Life is weird, right?

The play was set during the Holocaust and followed the journey of a man and a group of children being walked to a concentration camp by an unhinged Nazi soldier. Yes, I could still play a teenager. Yes, most of us died on the journey.

Fast-forward 34 years: I’ve moved a lot—about every four years. Across the country twice, across Texas (which is basically across the country) twice, and then between states again. I’ve had two life experiences where I lost pretty much everything. I’ve struggled financially a good chunk of the time. My last move included a few family furniture pieces, 40 boxes, two aquariums, and two cats. (One must prioritize.)

My house is little—750 square feet. Not tiny enough to qualify as a tiny house. (Once again, I miss the trend boat.) It holds my animal family, my personal space, and my studio. We are piled up.

I’ve been dragging around boxes of clothes—none of which I will ever wear again (thank god; no woman of my stature should wear a 0). Some were handed down from my grandmother that I could never wear in the first place (there must have been negative sizes in the 60s and 70s). But I had emotional ties, so I kept them.

Cancer journeys are fantastic tie-cutters.

So, I decided I was brave enough to let go of one box. AND I had an in with a local consignment shop that wanted them. Win win win win: less clutter, less baggage, someone else gets joy, cash in my pocket.

Beautifully tailored clothes from the 60s–90s, appeared before my eyes. And then under the purple rayon velvet turtleneck I wore for my senior pics…I saw it. A ripped, torn, filthy, German-country, peasant-y thing: THE DRESS.

Holy snorklebunnies. What’s that doing in here?

There were a few other costume pieces (including the freaking awesome cape from Legend my mom made me), so I figured: well, this is timely. Halloween’s coming. Perfect. THE DRESS is already “distressed” (design language for torn up and dirty) so it’ll be a perfect zombie crawl dress.

THE DRESS Afterlife
Sighting 1: A couple weeks after I dropped the dress off at the consignment store, I drive by and there it is: THE DRESS. Hanging on an outdoor mannequin in all its glory. And it had been washed. Huh? Fine. I’m sure it stunk. Still distressed, still zombie-worthy.

Sighting 2: Post-Halloween. The shop owner decides she too has way too many clothes. She does a 75%-off sale (which I took advantage of) and then leaves the leftovers in boxes at the base of a tree with a big “free” sign.

You know I nearly caused an accident as I braked and swerved into the parking lot.

I dug through the boxes thinking: Wow! Here’s the thermal I need, here’s a pair of 7 For All Mankind jeans I need, here’s a canvas bag I need so I can get all these clothes home. And then: Holy crap, here’s THE DRESS. I was disappointed that no one had bought it- I mean it carries some seriously awesome zombie juju but I thought: c’est la vie maybe someone will take it for next Halloween. And lugged my 30 pounds of goodies to the car in previously noted canvas bag.

Sighting 3: Today. Mid-November. THE DRESS is the furthest thing from my mind. I’m dealing with present-day stuff, trudging up the hill, my mind trying to push away the Green-and-Black Cabinet Synchronicity because surely, I can’t afford that house and, and.., and… I look up and there’s THE DRESS. Hanging from a STOP sign. On a hanger. With dead leaves stuck all over it.

Explain that, brain.

And here we are: There’s a saying in Recovery circles: When it’s time for change, God will knock on the door. If you don’t listen, God will bang on the door. If you still aren’t paying attention, God will tear the door off.

In those terms:
The kncok was the Green-and-Black Cabinet Synchronicty.
The bang was the THE DRESS on the STOP sign.
I’ve had it happen one too many times to want to know what tearing the door off looks like.

I’m listening…
love ya!

Jenni