31 January

It has gotten cold. The winter here has been pretty mild so far but this week brought bitter, windy, deep-down and busting through the double-glazed windows, cold. 

When packing for our Christmas trip to Pittsburgh, I pulled out my trusty £3 mittens purchased on a blustery night at Waterloo only to find them moth-eaten and full of holes. I went gloveless and was determined to buy some good old-fashioned gloves when we made it to the US. The day after we arrived, Jay and I went for a walk with my parents to Walnut Street so they could run some errands and I could look for gloves. Nothing in the shops we passed fit my tiny, creepy hands that wasn't somehow bedazzled or completely impractical. So, we had some pumpkin spice coffee and walked back home.

My mother offered me a pair of my grandmother's gloves that she had found when sorting through her things after she passed away in November. I was skeptical until she showed me the gloves and I tried them on. They fit me, well, like a glove, because G Buck had tiny hands too.  Of course, they are comfy, understated and sturdy because she only owned quality goods.

In short, these are the nicest gloves I have ever owned. I have a terrible track record with gloves though, so I have been leaving them at home most days out of fear that I will lose them or, even worse, lose just one. But today when it was freezing I knew G Buck would be telling me to stop being ridiculous and put my gloves on because this weather is more than anyone should have to abide with bare hands.