Loyal. . . . If I had to think of a word to describe that favourite piece of clothing that wears itself out in your service, I suppose it would have to be ‘loyal‘. In this favourite shirt or pair of jeans or pair of shoes, pajamas or whatever – you feel comfortable. You feel like ‘you‘. Even if you don’t always say the right thing, or feel all that confident around others, or have nagging doubts about important things – this shirt is your friend, and in it, you feel comfortable. Is it just me? Or do you have any of those? When I get a new fave its like I have nothing else in my closet. I understand that I might be a little over the top about that sorta thing. Then again, I might have some kindred spirits out there. ?
Truth is, I have a favourite shirt. A denim shirt. What can I say? I am a denim girl. I bought it a few years ago and as unhappy as I am to admit it, I’ve just about worn it out. This is most unfortunate and I have a hard time parting with a favourite companion like my denim shirt – which has served me so well. As it happens, my mom moved in with us several months ago – and although I can mend clothes as well as many others, my mom can do it better. When she mends, it’s professionally done. She breathes new life into the garment. She takes more care than the average mender – precise corners, that sorta thing. Like a true quilter. A few months ago, she saved my denim shirt with three small but important patches, in just the right colour of blue cloth. But as bad luck would have it, I ripped it in another spot and back it went into my mother’s sewing room where it hung for quite a while – while I spent weeks trying to convince her into giving it one last chance with another patch, and she spent those same weeks trying to convince me to let it go, and assuming I’d be reasonable. Reason I have discovered, is a relative thing. It took over a month, but I am happy to report I prevailed, and we went through her scraps looking for the piece that would work just right. Again.
It reminded me of a certain pair of jeans when I was about fourteen years old. In my view they were a patchwork piece of art. In my mom’s opinion they were an embarrassment. She kept saying “this is the LAST patch Cindy” to which I would readily agree, thinking surely this one would be the last needed. But inevitably within another couple of days I was back with my jeans in hand saying “Please Mom?“
She came from war years – where patched clothing may have been a necessity but it sure wasn’t a happy one, and any self respecting kid would have been mortified to have had half as many patches as I wore. Nowadays moms are saved the trouble. My grandkids prefer holes to the patches. But that wasn’t cool in the 1970’s when I was a teenager. Patches were.
Whatever happened to those jeans remains a mystery. They simply vanished one day, never to be seen again. I had already on a few occasions, rescued them from the garbage, to my mother’s embarrassment, so it is not difficult to imagine their eventual fate. But I am not bitter. I promise. And she claims she has no recollection of their fate anyway.
Flash forward a few decades. I am a mother and a grandmother, but it seems that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Some things just keep getting repeated. There I was in my mother’s sewing room again, pleading “Please Mom. Just one more chance. I’m not ready to give up on it.” And her saying “Cindy, have some respect. Give it a proper burial.” This is the same conversation we’ve had over several white cotton nightgowns over the last two or three or four decades.
She did it. She always relents in the end. My denim shirt lived to see another day. We both hope the next rip will not be too soon. Have you ever had a favourite something that you just wore out but couldn’t give up on? Truth be told, I’ve had a few. A worn out patchwork quilt that I talked Mom into making into a housecoat for me when I was in high school. I took it with me into my marriage. Wisely, Dan didn’t have an opinion. And several nightgowns that eventually transitioned into another realm after becoming transparent from wear.
Its not that I don’t like new things. Its just that have such an appreciation for the old. The stalwarts. The faithful friends. Old clothes. Old dishes. Old pictures. Old friends. Old houses.
I am familiar with the old adage:
Use it up. Wear it out.
Make it do or do without.
And I’d like to say that my sentiments are that practical, and I may have even justified myself from time to time with this philosophy. But nah, if I was completely honest – it is because I too am loyal.
Warmly,
Cindy Suelzle