(What the road looked like a week or two ago. And the waterfall beside our house, covered in snow last week, and two little snow elves. Also, it was 9 degrees yesterday morning. Winter is starting to get the better of me…..)
Well, the more I thought about what I wrote yesterday the more I realized probably most people are already mending their clothes and sewing on buttons and that sort of thing. I didn’t mean to make it sound as if I have suddenly discovered this incredible secret of life! Or that I am so amazing because I sewed! Wendell Berry would probably not be all that impressed.
I think it’s just something that mostly never occurred to me, or at least, something that my sweet mother always did for me and I never had to worry about, so stitching up a few holes my very own self felt like a grand accomplishment. But I meant my post yesterday in a self-deprecating way: I was and am proud of myself, yes, but also any four year old girl a hundred years ago could easily sew a thousand times better than I can. Everyone sewed all of their clothes! We have tiny doll clothes that my mother’s grandmother sewed by hand, that are some of the fanciest, most detailed little things imaginable! So I really meant to say, isn’t it sort of strange and sad how far we’ve come from those days, that a grown woman feels accomplished from (badly) sewing up a hole in a sweater? That’s what I meant to say.
(Below, actual picture of laundry on our couch, because such is life, and words on the side of a church in downtown Ithaca that are balm for weary souls.)