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Byline: Amy Tara Koch
CHICAGO _ In the last two years, I lost my beloved grandmother and my mother. Two deaths. But three fur coats. The boxes arrived from family members with notes: They thought I could use these out here in the tundra! I stroked the hides affectionately _ a once-glam broadtail evening coat, an `80s apres-ski mink jacket (think Wisconsin, not Gstaad) and a dowdy, Grizzly Adams-type number _ and marched them down to our bulging storage box. After sitting through the pelt-peppered runway shows in New York last fall, a light went off. What about those mounds of fur I had accumulated?
Yes, the coats were huge (I am size 2, the coats at least size 12) and dated. But the fur was good and how awesome it ...