A Gift From Aunt Eleanor

My brood: Eleanor, Lauren, Ted, and Stewart; and me wearing the Abercrombie & Fitch camel's hair jacket Aunt Eleanor gave me.

Aunt Eleanor sat at the breakfast table in the tiny garden of her garden of her 65th Street apartment.  She held the New York Times above her plate as she perused it, looking for a subject for her daily column.  Her two Scotties were sprawled on the cool bricks at her feet.  I passed through the French doors to join her in the garden.  Before every outdoor meal, the white cast-iron table had to be wiped clean of the particles that settled out of the city air, but it was worth it to be out of doors.
    The cook brought us tea as well as fresh raspberries that had been sent down from Val-Kill.  Hyde park honey stood in a container on the table, to be dribbled on the berries if we wanted it.  Eleanor often ordered a soft-boiled egg, and just as often I joined her.  She always made toast herself at the table and did so as we discussed plans for the day.  She had a number of appointments to attend to in the morning, so Tubby would drop me off on the way to any address I chose.  That day I wanted to go downtown.  I would walk back up to 65th Street along Fifth Avenue and study store windows and city buildings and people, and perhaps go over to Madison Avenue to look in galleries on the way.
    After breakfast, she went over her mail, wrote her column, and then we left.  She wore dark, tailored clothes in the city and good-looking walking shoes.  Gloves and a hat finished the costume, which was appropriate for anything from a dentists appointment to an interview at CBS.  When we paused at a red light, Aunt Eleanor asked Tubby to pull over to the curb, then said to me, “Why don’t you go on in Abercrombie’s.  I have an account there.  Here’s my card.  Buy yourself a present and charge it to me.  There must be something that you need, that would be useful to you.”
    I have seldom had a nicer invitation than that one.  I went into the store feeling as if, indeed, I could buy myself something there.  Needless to say, it took much investigation and consideration.  Sports goods, sporty clothes, a magical tour of many possibilities.  The choice gradually narrowed down to one object I had long dreamed of wearing: a camel’s hair sports jacket with two patch pockets and two buttons.  Soft and warm and handsome.
    I carried it all the way up Fifth Avenue and showed it to Aunt Eleanor at lunchtime.  I wore the coat until the lining was in tatters, the fabric was wearing thin, and the pockets were falling off.