Meditation On Mending
I have a beat up hat. Khaki in color, it has the emblem of the American Red Cross, a logo as recognizable as anything in the world, save for Coca-Cola. Composed of fairly sturdy cotton with a nice stiff brim, it features a Velcro closure. This last is vast improvement over those wretched plastic doo-dads with the holes and the knobs you snap together. With my giant melon, I always have to mate the last knob on the last hole. I think it makes my head look like someone is trying dress up a pumpkin to look like a trucker.
My hat has fallen on hard times. I wore it in lieu of a bandanna when working out, so it needed to be washed with the rest of my togs lest it become as fragrant as the south end of a northbound buffalo. In the wash it became twisted up with other clothing and the Velcro closure tore off. The hat has been sitting in the laundry room for a week or so, and this morning I decided to do something about it.
I have no particular affection for it, it is not a memento. It was free, and I have several other similar hats that would work just as well keeping sweat from my eyes. I could likely score a half dozen more just like it if I paid attention. Nevertheless, I broke out a needle and thread, and spent a few minutes repairing the hat. I have been preternaturally dismayed at how disposable our things have become. Blowing and throwing a tissue is more sanitary than handkerchiefs, so I am fine with things meant to be used and tossed meeting their appointed fate. Still, a few stitches in my hat, and it was back in business. I imagine that more people would patch up little things like this, but who today knows how to sew?
As a teenager, I bought a used backpack. After a few trips the hip belt was ready to fail. A new one was more than I could afford. On an inspiration, I took he belt to a shoemaker. He was able to sturdy as new for just a few dollars. I felt very clever, and have been a fan of shoe repair shops ever since. There is a skill in identifying things that can be mended, and yet more skills in mending. Money spent on a new thing to replace a repairable thing is money that could be put to better use. It further exacts a cost in the lost opportunity to feel satisfaction in keeping one’s world in order. Any fool can dispose and buy, it takes wisdom and foresight to repair, to add a rivet, drive a nail or choose the right glue. Necessity may breed being handy, surely our fathers learned this when money was scarce, but learning to fix a thing has it’s own rewarding virtue even if you can afford a new one. I hope to pass this on to my grandkids.
