Fixing a Hole

I've been talking a lot about things I intend to do. Which makes sense: most of what I am doing right now is planning.

But there has been some doing as well, and these doings are rich with excitement. Last night, for instance, I darned a sock.

I know... Whoa.

..........
There was a phase of my young adult life during which I always gave my older brother socks for Christmas. There's a back story there that would probably only entertain little sisters who like to tease their big brothers. And who doesn't need socks, right? Darned useful things.

After many Christmases of socks, I was talking to his wife and joked that I should think of something better than socks to give to him. She told me that he actually liked getting socks because socks are useful. And that he didn't understand the underlying teasing. Oh well.

I think that was the year that they sent me some socks in return.

The socks they sent match in pattern but not color; both are a mix of purple, lavender, turquoise and dark blue. They're funky. And nice socks. I wear them a lot, primarily because of their vibrant colors. It's not so much that these are my favorite colors - they aren't. It's the fact that, by virtue of being the only purple/lavender/turquoise/dark blue things in my sock drawer, I can always find the pair of them faster than any other pair of socks I own. It's a mighty helpful attribute.

But one of these socks, the generally more purple of the pair, ended up with a hole in the toe. I'm not the sort of person who tosses out a pair of socks just because of a single hole, but the situation kept getting worse, and I'd find myself in the morning confronting my sock drawer, able to find this one pair, and then scrambling for another simply because of this toe hole. It bummed me out. Not as much as the global economic crisis, of course - but even the small things can seem insurmountable before my first cup of coffee.

A few years ago, when my daughter was younger, I'd just picked her up from the YMCA babysitting room when she took a spill and skinned a big hole in her new pair of tights. After we determined that it was just a flesh wound, we both got a little sad about the hole: for my part, I was bummed about the money that had gone down the tube; she was sad because it had been her new favorite pair. And now, all seemed lost.

Luckily, my mom was visiting at the time. Mom took one look at the hole and said, "Let's darn it." Just as simple as that. And she did. We went home, I pulled out my embroidery thread (I can make an awesome friendship bracelet, FYI) and she made a huge rainbow-colored fix. It was brilliant, and my daughter loved it. She wore those tights for another two years.

It was sort of miraculous, really, the way my mom took an item that appeared to have its functional value diminish to a total loss and, in the space of fifteen minutes, gave it two more years of use life.

You might, correctly, point out that I could have gone back to Target and paid another $7.99 for an identical pair. I couldn't argue with you on that point.

But...

Sigh.

I don't know how to articulate it, really. It's just that I'm trying escape that answer.

So yesterday I went onto YouTube and found a video of someone darning a sock. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4n1jTVyBE0

Then I pulled out the sock, some yarn, and a needle, and darned it.

And, you know what? It's all better now.

It took thirty minutes or so to really get it all figured out and finished, but I don't think that's bad for a first attempt. I'm sure the next one will go more quickly. And I've got plenty that I can do: a cashmere sweater that has some moth holes; more socks; more of my daughter's tights.

I know, I know... We could probably just go to Wall-Mart and replace them, right? It would be simple and inexpensive. (Well, not the cashmere sweater - there's no chance we could replace that).

Going to Wal-Mart and buying more socks is, after all, the apparent answer to sock holes in our current cultural moment.

But I don't want to do that anymore. It is the easy answer, but I don't think it's the right one.

So I darned a sock. And, soon, I'll darn another!

And in fixing those holes, rather than chucking and replacing the whole sock, I'll feel the smug sense of satisfaction that comes with tearing one thread of the web that consumer culture and designed obsolescence have spun around us.