I was darning my husband’s sweater (they were only small holes, so not worthy of being damned) and in mid-stitch, was thinking that perhaps this is one of those many things that tells my age on me. As it is, I will readily admit to my advancing age–a thing of neutral value in my estimation, balancing fairly comfortably so far between worthwhile accumulations of experience and adventure and the brink of crepitation that will begin my final free-fall towards oblivion. So it’s not a touchy subject.
What really struck me during this little bit of mending was that however cloddish my technique, it was still a very antique skill that I had learned from Mom in my youth and she, in her turn, from hers, and right on back into the impenetrable fog of history. Furthermore, a skill that you’d think a truly slothful person like I am at heart would find just a teeny bit repellant; you’d honestly expect something more like my flinging the sweater in a pile of give-away items as I slouched by on my way to the nearest chaise longue. I live in a disposable and spoiled society and it would be quite conceivable that I would far prefer to go with the flow of self-indulgence, lean back in the shade comfortably sipping sweet tea, and buy a new sweater with no untoward holes in it.
But along with that darning bit of old-fashioned fashion in me are a few other quirks of age. It’s clear that my multiple personalities are coming out of the woodwork in all of their glorious contradiction as I grow older. I am more able, for example, to recognize what would be the more mature thing to think, say or do in a given circumstance, but less willing to conform to that with every day that slithers by. I grow lazier–I would say by leaps and bounds, but that would imply energy being exerted to do so, obviously a misrepresentation, so let’s say by exponential expansion–that’s another thing, coincidentally, that I’m doing along with age, since I eat more and exercise less whenever I think I can get away with it. Even when I know I can’t. And yet another of these oddities is that while I grow lazier as quickly and surely as long blue-green hair grows on expiring vegetables, I also grow more stubborn about getting some things repaired in ways that will last longer and prevent my having to repair them next week yet once more. So I darn the darn things.
Everyone and everything else continues to age right along with me, so I feel safe in assuming a certain amount of knowing sympathy among my crinkled compadres, as well as understanding when I say that I am also simultaneously getting more profligate and more tight-fisted with my money. There are so many things that in days gone by I would have continently held in heart-thrumming abeyance as long as I could stand, both to see if I truly craved them enough for the sizable expenditure and because I thought it more fiscally prudent and Mature. Now, I’m often apt to shrug with a rich Gallic moue and say to myself, But Darling, you could, howcanIsayitdelicately, CROAK tomorrow! And POP! goes the wallet.
Some things I have learned actually do fall under the get-what-you-pay-for rubric, making up in the long term what they scared out of me in the present expense. Such, for example, is this cashmere sweater I mended. I am quite fond of bragging that I’ve bagged most of my non-shoe wardrobe for under USD $10, but on a couple of rare occasions I have seen one of a kind items either at surprise availability or better yet, on sale (perhaps resembling in this my brother-in-law, whose middle name we have occasionally joked should have been HalPris, or Half Price, for his amazing zest and gift for finding bargains)–when those moments come, it’s time to pony up and make the grand purchase. Because (a) high quality does last longer and (b) some outrageous things are just too jolly fun to have. So as I’m loath to cast off a slightly moth-eaten cashmere, it was worth the effort of the purchase enough that I’m willing to undergo the momentary exertion of actually mending and maintaining such a thing. It’s like a smaller and less complicated version of the relationship I have with a house: I know that things will constantly require attention and maintenance, and what falls within my limited skill range must be determined to be either worth the trouble or not, destined to be cheaply slicked over or staring me down with the necessity and value of genuine, if expensive, care and improvement.
As for the sweater with the holes in it, I just did the best I could making them disappear with some discreet back stitching and re-weaving of the threads. It deserved to be darned. The moth that munched the wool, him I did damn to perdition for his maleficence in undoing the pristineness of my husband’s only nice and slightly expensive sweater. Go back to your weed patch and chew on a rabid squirrel’s ankle or something, you mean MothMonster, why don’t you! And then I’d blow him away on a dandelion parachute, while lying back once again on my chaise as the sun drifts gradually down the afternoon sky.
Art-Colored Glasses 
Oooh.. I’m finally the first to comment… the pressure!! I have always been a blurter, immaturely splurting out whatever pops into my head… I’ve become better at zipping it until I can think of a tactful way of saying things. But, your post reminds me (sadly) that I hold my much younger daughter to such a high standard when it comes to this sort of thing. Thanks for reminding me…
And.. I can sew and have been itching to do so lately. And.. our roof likely needs replacing ugggh and $$$$ we might have to put that one off!
. . . and roofs have to be pretty tough in your realm! I was immensely thrilled when I learned that the “15 years” written on our disclosure statement regarding the roof turned out to be a typo transcribed from the seller’s written “1.5 years”. Maybe we should all relearn the prairie art of good sod roofs! It is, after all, a fine thing to keep the old-fashioned skills fresh, and not only the lovely art of sewing.
Morning darling! I darn!! Don’t tell anyone. My mother once darned my dress-up ballet dress(I was not allowed to learn ballet my mother said it was for common people .. who knows where she got that idea!) that was long and pink and absolutely sheer, so beautiful, 4 layers of floaty dreams that I ripped whilst climbing a tree, (as you would ), she took threads from the hem and mended the tear so you could not see it. The threads were so fine she could barely see them to thread. . I have never forgotton that piece of work. Of course I had to start on socks when she taught me. and for socks the darn HAS to be good because you STAND on it! and I am the opposite about spending now. i see something i would have died for only a few years ago and think Nah, I would rather keep saving for another COW! I wear my nieces hand me UP clothes! She is 21! Imagine the stuff i end up wearing.. Ok i have to go out and muck out the barn. bye.. c
Gracious, if you learned to darn from someone who could repair tulle, you must be quite the wizard! Why am I so not-shocked that the tear was tree-induced! It’s really no wonder you have such adventurous animal companions around you now: they have a fine example in their fearless leader. And I”ll bet they don’t mind in the least what you show up wearing, as long as your niece keeps you “decent”. 🙂
marvelously the girl does not keep me decent, her clothes choices are delightfully indecent and her daddy is rich.. woohoo for me.. so i can be scooping the poop out there is some quite glorious outfits!! The mind boggles.. c
I bet you’re glad you mended it now Kathryn…the artwork is beautiful,so vibrant, and I particularly like the last two lines, wonderful imagery 😊
Richard doesn’t wear a sweater often, so I figure at least for the rarity of the occasion he deserves it to be presentable!! I’m glad you like the post. 🙂
I am on the side of ‘half price’ – I love to find a bargain and echo your sentiment that sometimes you have to pony up to make the grand purchase. I would rather have one beautiful last a lifetime (holes included) cashmere sweater than fifty acrylic throwaway ones. Sadly I don’t know how to darn.
You notice I didn’t say I darned *well*. As Celi notes above, you have to be really clever to darn the soles of stockings, and that’s one thing I’d never attempt with my makeshift skills!
Meanwhile, you remind me that I need to go and refresh the cedar oil spray in our clothes closets! Ta-ta!
You had me laughing at the get-go here – I am glad you didn’t damn the sweater! I am fortunate enough that all of my closets are cedar lined; I am not fortunate in that I *sniff* have no expensive cashmere sweaters. I DO have a nice cotton twin set or two (or three) from Christopher and Banks {bought on sale, of course} – though I don’t think the moths you have damned would appreciate them!
Believe me, honeychile, there would be no cashmere in the vicinity of this here household either if it hadn’t been for ridiculous past-post-season sales a couple of times at various outlet stores! The words Happy Accident come to mind. But twinsets are a fine thing too, and if they’re made of something that makes the moth meanies break their little creepy teeth or barf lint or whatever, I’m all for it. 🙂
My dear old Dad, the master-salesman (Men’s suits, Dillard’s department store, Northpark Mall) taught me from a young age – Invest in quality classics, and buy ultra-stylish things that quickly fall from fashion on the cheap…My tendancy to Snort and Giggle at the prices ($1200 for an acryllic sweater?) in boutiques does not endear me to the staff.
Go figure.
But now, my aged, beloved red cashmere cowlneck sweater has begun to show wear – not a moth, but an errant furniture nail is to blame. It has now retired from public life…Is there anything more decadent than having a cashmere hang-around-the-house sweater? 🙂
You are so right! My version of it was a little grey cashmere cardigan my sister had had (she’s taller than me, so it was longer both in waist and sleeve length than my usual)–it had shrunk over years of use and finally had gotten several holes in the sleeves. I cut the sleeves off and hemmed ’em and had another several years’ wear out of a really fun, unique short-sleeved cashmere cardi that I hated to part with when the torso of it finally was too threadbare for further repairs. Pretty good mileage altogether, though, I’d say.
I’ve noticed a marked decline in the “level” of my clothing once I could no longer work. A closet once full of suits, dress shirts, ties, belts, etc., has been replaced by one containing a few pairs of well-worn jeans, some sports shirts, and a rainbow assortment of henleys which are going into the “rotation” now that colder temps have arrived. Darn something? When one’s wardrobe epitomizes “shabby chic,” one has little need for needle and thread.
As you know from my ‘Well Worn’ post, I’ve nothing whatsoever against shabby chic! It’s really all about the elan with which things are worn, isn’t it.
As one of the crinkled compadres you mentioned, I not only darn but I consider some of my clothes friends. They have stuck by (to) me through the years and in respect I mend them and wear them. We don’t throw away our friends when they begin to look a bit ragged; otherwise, we’d all be friendless.
Amen sister, amen! Hmmm, I think I’ll go put on that blouse I bought in high school . . . pretty much the best and most lasting thing that came out of those years, come to think of it . . . .
I appreciate the wordplay of darning and being damned. You certainly wouldn’t have wanted to keep that dammed up inside yourself.
😀