When we gave away all of Grandma's clothes I couldn't bring myself to part with the gorgeous jacket (with metal bead appliqué) and chocolate brown slacks.

I don't know that Palin is only going to wear the clothes once. LOL She's been rocking that red jacket for weeks now. :) Besides, the total included stuff like her daughter's Louis Vuitton handbag. Wouldn't it be nice to spend someone else's money to buy your teenage daughter an expensive purse?

Hopefully, the Louis Vuitton handbag will have a secret compartment with a box of condoms in it ...

Boy Eric, you've hit so many of issues and history. I mean, just because we both grew up Jewish, queer, New Yorkers, and came of age in the seventies...

You might remember that my mother was quite the fashion plate. She was full of hints and tips and advice for her gender dysphoric daughter who HATED shopping, and couldn't care less about clothing. Well, women's clothing. It pained her that all of it was lost on me. And it was torturous on me.

Her shopping philosophy (gee, that sounds silly) was different from your grandmother's, but the underlying principle was the same - value. She bought the best, but she would keep it forever, and treated her clothes and accessories like they were treasures.

When she died, it was left to me to make a lot of the decisions about the arrangements because my father was too broken up. That included picking out what she would wear to be buried.

She cared so much about her appearance, and I was such a basket case, it seemed overwhelming. Her wardrobe was vast, and I didn't know what was the best, or her favorite, or if something was too good in terms of value and/or history to be buried and therefore lost for all time. The irony of me dressing my mother for eternity, wasn't the funny kind.

In a flash of inspiration/desperation, I decided to bury her in the dress she wore to my brother's wedding. I figured that the happiness associated with the occasion would trump any of the other esthetic considerations. And it was the last time I saw her before the end.

I felt good about that decision, especially since it was waaay out of my comfort zone. But I felt it was my job to look out for her when she couldn't. Yes, it was completely irrational. She was dead. It didn't really matter how she looked. Hell, it wasn't even really her anymore.

But her dyke-cum-FTM daughter made sure she looked stylish for her own funeral. So I guess some of those lessons sunk in.

that's great.

Yeah, there's no reason she had to spend like that, other than the fact that it was someone else's money.

Yes, Rory, we have more in common than we might have imagined. I, too, got to choose the clothes. When my grandmother was 95 we had a hilarious (yes, hilarious) conversation about her funeral plans. She couldn't believe that I was asking her, but I wanted to know. Grandma was someone with very strong opinions and, as I explained to her, I didn't want to be standing in front of her closet trying to figure out with my uncle what Grandma would have wanted to wear to her own funeral.
But she protested and said I would know what to choose. So I ventured a guess, "Your black pants suit?" "You wouldn't do that to me!" she said indignantly. I explained to her that that was why I asked her in the first place. "Okay," she said, "something beige and one of my silk scarves." Beige left me with a lot of options.
I get teary now just thinking about laying out her clothes on the night it was clear she was going to die. I did her nails, too, before I left her in her bed for what was her last night's sleep. And in case you're wondering, she wore pearl nail polish. It goes with everything.