Last week my hubby wanted me to try patching his favorite jeans for him. Let it be known, I am not a seamstress. I don't sew. I rarely mend. I'm good at fixing buttons. That's about it. My mom, bless her heart, spent a whole year of girls scouts teaching us to sew. Basically, I know how. I at least know the girl scout basics. I once bought a sewing machine. It was out of the box, and I did attempt to use it to sew patches onto football jerseys for my husbands team. I lasted about 5 minutes before I boxed that baby back up, returned it to Walmart, and headed for moms... That was the extent of my sewing career.
So he asked me to patch a pair of jeans. I said yes because I know how it feels to lose your favorite jeans, but Lord help me... So I reached out to the memories of Grandma Bessie. She was the mend, repair and patch queen. Even if we didn't want jeans patched, because really sometimes holes in your jeans were cool. Nevertheless, they reappeared in our laundry basket entirely hole free. Even in the year of "you girls are now responsible for your own laundry," which basically turned into Grandma waiting till mom was gone and gathering the clothes and still doing our laundry, she really was the best. She fixed holes in socks, in jeans, probably in underwear. There were so many times you would come home and she was in her rocking chair in her room, patching holes.
She was from that generation, growing up in the depression, you saved, you fixed, you reused, before recycling was "in", they recycled. She saved everything from tin foil to pea juice. And, most importantly, she patched jeans. I immediately thought of her when I had this task of patching jeans. Number one, where did she get the patch material? I'm sure she had a secret pile of saved old jeans that were beyond patching. I did not. I had to dig around for an old pair to sacrifice for a patch.
Patch material found and an old pocket sacrificed, I was ready to attempt a patch. But where to begin, where to do the stitching? Are you supposed to see it? Not see it? I didn't have blue thread, because again, I'm not into sewing. I have the basics for button repair. Black thread, white thread and maybe three needles, which I can never find. But I found one, I was ready, ready as I could be anyway.
{The ugly patch job.}
So with the patch somewhat secured, I began the tedious process of patching. Like every other 42 year old out there, my vision is borderline - I might need bifocals - and trying to thread the needle was a process in itself, but I was able to finish one side. Then, looking at the mess in front of me it hit me. I missed it. I missed the chance to sit and watch Grandma sew. All the years, all the hours spent in her room. There were plenty of stories, snacks and sleepovers, but she usually did the sewing alone. I missed it. I never sat and watched, really watched. I never asked the questions. I never let her teach me. I took it for granted that Grandma would always be patching my clothes for me.
And all of a sudden, alone in my kitchen, looking at the stupid pair of jeans, I lost it. Tears... so many tears. I was sobbing. How did I allow myself to miss that chance. Grandma Bessie would have been 100 this year. I hope she is up there sewing heavenly patches and laughing at my horrid attempt at a patch job. But I will learn, I'll get better. Because if Grandma Bessie thought it was important to save, reuse, and patch, then it was important.
I've realized that just like taking for granted that I would always have her to patch when needed, we take so much for granted in this life. If nothing else, I will take time to stop, to learn, to ask the questions. To put my phone down. Read a little more, write a little more, Facebook a little less... Life is too short. And if you have a Grandma Bessie in your life, absorb those moments. Cherish those lessons. Remember those stories. One day it will be all you have. And if you ever need a pair of jeans patched, I am not your woman. But I know a great Grandma you can think of while you learn to do it yourself.
