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.
silkannthreades 