I searched through the pile of sweaters and cardigans looking for just one without a small hole or snag to large to hide. Not a single knit sweater I owned was safe to wear in public. There are two problems with people like me who live in cold weather, you’re the owner of to many sweaters and it’s simply to cold to go out without one.

I learned to mend my holes when I began to pile sweaters, socks, and pants onto the mending pile for my mother to fix for me. With those years long gone past, there isn’t a hole, tear, broken zipper, lost button, torn wool sock that I can’t mend. I find sitting in the green chair by the fire with a sweater hole and needle a relaxing past time with a purpose. I’m so rough on my clothes that I can’t really afford to bring them to a place to be fixed nor do I want to replace my favorite sweaters (they are the ones that always need mending).

I will find the art in mending, how to make it unnoticeable the fixes that I make to keep my favorite threads together. I will not be daunted with the task, even when there seems to be nothing to wear. It seems as though most “womanly” tasks have been forgotten or pushed aside because of the amount of time it takes to fix clothes with a needle or even the lack of knowledge. But as the the techniques given to me by my mother, I will carry them and teach them to the younger girls and then my own girls.

Knowing how to pinch the cloth delicately without making it pucker comforts me when the treads of my favorite clothing come apart, they console my mind into thinking that I am competent to fix things on my own. Mending has saved me from giving up clothes that still have life, but simply need some work and care. I won’t let this art die by convenience.

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