Yesterday there was darning of my knitted socks and K's sport socks. My socks were more fun to mend than white cotton socks. I like making the mends visible, adding to the story.
There was a cathartic dream of seeing a friend...we had the longest hug while weeping over all that has happened this last year.
My mending isn't professional or always pretty. Here's the latest patch to my very thin, worn out but loved polka-dot pjs. Soon they will be more patch than polka-dot. I should take more care and time with this project, but I don't, just trying to keep them together enough for folks not to see more of me than they should.
Hopefully my mending is practical. I do love doing it. It feels like I'm beating the odds, a kind of super power. I know it isn't, but to those who don't pick up needle and thread it appears that way, and I'm not going to tell them otherwise.
Last night I realized that a couple of weeks ago I somehow skipped a bunch of pages in my painting book, that will need some mending now, too.
There were also a few holes in a friend's skirt. Black on black is hardest.
