Tag Archives: darning

From my desk ~the great debate

Here it is ~ the great debate which is swirling round my head as I sit at my desk ~

‘A Stitch in Time saves Nine’ or ‘Mending be Darned’.

What say you?

Behind me, I have a pile of darning, occupying an armchair. The pile is many inches high. It stares at me accusingly no matter  where I place it. I try to avoid its gaze but, like Mona Lisa’s eyes, it follows me everywhere. It’s been like this for months. I hear it mocking me, in multiples of 9; “Not stitched in time, 9×9; not stitched in time, 9×10…”

Not stitched in time; more than 9 stitches required

I am not a natural mender. Darning doesn’t come easy, although it should, because I come from a line of excellent darners.  My mother was a diligent darner, and could always be relied upon to mend anything. My aunt was a skilled darner. It was a pleasure to watch her work. Her needle and thread wove magical, near invisible, lines  through the runs in my school stockings. ( Yes, stockings, with a suspender belt…..I am of the pre-pantyhose generation)

My mother’s well-worn darning mushroom, and my aunt’s darning which is barely visible from a distance.

Did they enjoy darning? Well, there is a certain satisfaction  in making something whole and complete again, but I suspect it was necessity and frugality, not pleasure, which drove their darning needles.

Frugality and necessity should drive me, too, but, in front of me, there’s a computer which begs me to use my fingers and my mind outside the domestic realm. It makes me want to say, “Mending be Darned” and “Go create something new”.

So I do, make something new; a  phone photo, for my friends, for myself, of the clematis growing vigorously near the garden gate.

New Zealand clematis by my garden gate

That makes me happy.

But, truthfully, so would a stack of neatly mended clothing. If only I could bring myself to do it.

(Oh, shush, you there behind me. I can hear your sotto voce recitations, “Stitch! stitch! stitch!….  A stitch in time saves 9, a stitch in time saves 9…”,

and don’t you dare start on the 9 times table again. Remember, I know where the nearest recycle bin is! It’s temptingly close by.)

Sigh, the debate is not over yet.

Advertisements

The case of the missing socks

Remember  this post  , back in February, when my son, the one and only,  best beloved , left home to go flatting ?…..w.e.e.e.l.l…….I would not need to hire dear Monsieur  Poirot*  (* possible, but unlikely, spoiler alert)  to tell me that said son has returned to the fold. The evidence is clear.

And, if those signs were not compelling enough to indicate a son-in-residence, this one is indisputable.

Where's the Pair?

Where’s the Pair?

How is this possible? Where does the other half go? Perhaps I do need Monsieur Poirot, after all, to help solve this mystery that is as old as the sock itself?  Even if he were not  able to find the missing items, he would surely throw some psychological light on the subject  of sons and socks and mothers who treat their own socks like this ….which is very just so..

But more mysterious than the missing socks,

(and here I might require some fanciful intervention from Mr Kipling because I fear I am now  seeking answers in a realm beyond Monsieur Poirot’s logical mind )

is that mismatched socks may appear in the laundry, but I do not know when my son ever wears socks, in pairs or otherwise. Every time we meet in the house, or in the garden, he is barefooted.

Be that as it may, it is good to hear the noise and the quiet of him again.  And little Jack is thrilled to be able to race upstairs, once more, and find a  ready place to snuggle down with his best buddy.

Number one son, best beloved, may not be home for long. This is just an interlude between the end of the academic year and whatever he plans to do next. Should I suggest a job involving socks…selling, finding, darning, washing, knitting….thereof???

(Isn’t it fun that there’s always a good yarn to be had from a sock 😀 😀 :D?  Yes, you may groan! )

© silkannthreades