A couple of days ago I posted on facebook that I’d be taking on any and all odd jobs for the next week as I try to get some cash together for my ridiculous upcoming vacation.
There are a couple curtains and cushions to be made, but for the most part, what people need is to have things mended. I’ve got three bags full of holes to be patched, seams to be repaired, buttons to be sewn, hems to be made. (Funny, because I can’t really seem to get my shit together when it comes to making basic repairs on my own family’s mending pile, but that’s maybe another post.) So I’m hunkering down, and getting it done.
When I’m sewing I tend to get lost in thought. Here’s what occurred to me: What am I really doing right now? I’m mending. I’m fixing something that means enough to someone to not just dispose of it, like we do (only to be replaced with something else, equally disposable). I’m tending to weaknesses in knees. I’m giving new strength to things that have had quite enough.
We are all in need of some mending, aren’t we? We all have threadbare spots that need to be tended to. We all have wounds that need a little attention, a little reinforcement, a little support. And we usually keep them in a box in the closet until we’re forced to look at them for whatever reason, overwhelmed by the task at hand, tempted to just shove it back and close the door. What’s awesome to know is that there’s usually a person who can help–someone willing to hold the space and give the time to, wound by wound, patch things up.