For my grandma, being dressed properly for the cold meant layers. Lots and lots of thick layers. If you didn’t look like Ralphie’s younger brother in A Christmas Story, enveloped in so much material that you could barely move your limbs, you weren’t going to be warm enough.
When I’d visit her home in Green Bay, Wisconsin, before going to a late-season Packers game at Lambeau Field, she’d often be appalled at my attire. I’d try to explain to her the magic of modern technical fibers. That warm layers didn’t necessarily mean thick layers. I don’t think it ever fully registered.It’s
