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Even though we've had a mild fall, and have moved more slowly into winter than I can ever recall, some things about the move from fall into winter are destined never to change. For example, there will always be something that should have been done in preparation for winter's arrival, but was put off, or forgotten, until a major cold snap brings it into stark relief. Those are usually related to vehicle maintenance, such as getting a new battery, putting on winter tires, filling the windshield wiper reservoir with something that won't freeze, or replacing the windshield wipers with a set new enough that they won't shred the first time they encounter ice.

Something else that perpetually presents problems in the transition to winter mode is getting the winter clothing rounded up.

Because the weather shifts so quickly from bitter cold to nominally warm, rarely is any thought given to putting the winter wardrobe away in an organized manner. By the end of March most folks are so eager to shed their parkas in favor of a light jacket,they pitch them into any convenient nook or cranny. Let's face facts: when the warm weather retruns, we don't much care if we ever see our heavy coats again.

The same general attitude of disdan applies to all other manner of winter clothing. Heavy boots get kicked out of sight in favor of lightweight shoes, gloves and mittens are peeled off and cast carelessly to a corner, stocking caps are pitched to the back of the closet, heavy socks are stuffed to the bottom of the drawer, and long johns simply disappear. We go about our merry way, blissfully unencumbered with the excess insulation required by winter.

It's quite the opposite in the fall. Short-sleeved shirts are fastened securely to hangers, hung up neatly, and given a gentle touch in fond farewell. The shorts are put away where they can be viewed with longing throughout the cold months ahead. Sandals are left displayed prominantly in the closet to remind us the cold won't last forever. The windbreaker is left on the coat rack to be used at every given opportunity when the chances of freezing to death are minimal.

Alaskans relinquish the clothing of summer begrudgingly. We light candles in homage to the clothes of summer. And we pay close attention to where that clothing is stored so it can be retrieved at a moment's notice the moment warm weather returns.

Every fall Alaskans wish they had paid half as much attention to putting up their winter duds as they do the summer clothing.

At our house, we have taken to gathering up and storing our winter gear in a couple of very large plastic tubs we keep in the basement. We pitch everything in them, snap on the lids and try to forget their existance over the summer. One would think such a system provides immediate access to warmer clothing when needed. Unfortunately, with the tubs packed away several weeks into the warm weather, the chore is performed performed haphazardly, at best. Everything is simply stuffed into them just to get it out of the way. The end result is that we fare no better than anyone else.

Personally, I cannot remember ever being able to find a matched pair of gloves when I needed them for the first time in October, unless you want to count both left-hand gloves from two identical pairs as a matched pair.

There is always a great deal of shouting up and downstairs during the first time the tubs are cracked open.

"Hey, I can't find a pair of matching gloves."

"Did you look in the green tub?"

"Yeah, I found a left-hand glove in each tub."

"Did you look inside the mukluks? I put my gloves inside my mukluks."

"That's another thing: one of your mukluks is missing."

Where does the winter stuff go? Unlike coat hangers, which multiply when left hanging undisturbed in a closet, winter gear thins out. Are snow pants, parkas, stocking caps, gloves and the like cannibalistic? It gives one pause for thought.

In years past, the only quick way to locate wayward items has been to purchase replacements. Within just a day, or two, of buying a replacement for some lost item, it inevitably shows up.

The previous practice of buying replacements has led to a rather impressive collection of left-handed gloves and mittens over the years. This year, I've decided we're not going to buy replacements for any missing items. We'll just tough it out until the lost item reappears.

So, if you should happen to see a couple out for a walk, and the man has his right hand in his coat pocket while using his left hand to support a lady hopping on one foot in a mukluk, you'll know exactly who they are.

A.E. Poynor lives in Kenai.