It’s probably just a coincidence that General Conference takes place around the same time that it’s time to retire swimsuits for the season. But for me, the tradition of pulling out sweaters and listening to our leaders as I fold and iron and stack helps me be mindful of the passing seasons. It also gives my hands something to do as I listen, which makes me much less likely to indulge in another age-old General Conference tradition– curling up on the couch and falling into a doze before the opening prayer is over. During the four years we lived in Texas, I always struggled with somnolence during Conference, probably because it was still in the 90s– way too hot to be pulling out my lone sweater.
The upstairs hall is crowded with plastic garbage bags, bursting with shorts and flip flops bound for DI. The bedroom drawers are filled with neatly-folded sweaters, footie pajamas, and fleece-lined jeans. It’s the first weekend in October, which means that our house will be filled with the sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, the smell of baking apples, and bags of cast-off clothes.
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