I have acquired a new profession. I have become the family seamstress. I’m not exactly a real seamstress, but an emergency one whose shop is open until the late hours of the night when everyone else is home sleeping. I shall explain.
Although our family has been blessed with an exceptionally talented bevy of females – daughter, daughters-in-law, granddaughters – who possess a wide range of creative talents, none of them know how to hold a needle. Or thread one. Or maybe they do, but they don’t like to. They never seem to have the time or the right color thread or the right sized button. And so, a wide assortment of apparel is brought to my doorstep with heart-breaking requests to repair said articles of clothing immediately, if not sooner. The wearers must either 1) return to the army at 5 a.m. the next morning, 2) meet friends ten miles away in five minutes or they will miss some vital function, or 3) will be forced to go out into the cold, or the heat, or the rain sans Article X and will either freeze, melt or die of shame. Buttons must be attached immediately; zippers pried open or closed; knees on pants and elbows on sweaters patched and, worst of all, elastic reinserted or changed so that said articles of clothing will not slide off of said bodies.
I once read that if you want to be granted long life, you should make yourself indispensable. If you are needed, G-d will keep you down here because you are fulfilling a positive purpose in His world. I used to feel that I was so busy doing my own thing that I was not doing anything terribly vital for anyone else (except perhaps ironing my husband’s shirts). Where I to leave for a year’s vacation to some far-off South Sea island, I doubted that anyone would notice I was gone until their birthday or Chanukah came around.
So when the requests for alterations and repairs came in, I felt that G-d was sending me a new, life-saving job. Without my needle and collection of colored thread, the family would undoubtedly survive, but they would not be properly attired. We all know that clothes make the (wo)man so I accepted all jobs cheerfully. They were holy missions, meant to better the world.
And I was cheerful, even when jobs started coming in just as I was getting ready to light Shabbos candles, or close the lights and go to bed, or rush out to the dentist or to catch the bus. Or else I’d receive a bag of clothing with the announcement: There’s no rush. It’s not that vital. Haven’t worn these things for ages. But maybe you can fix them anyway. That always left me wondering. If it’s not that vital, why fix them? Give them away! But good grandmother that I am, I fixed them anyway.
Then I bought several of the granddaughters (all well into their teens) sewing kits. I offered to hold an informal sewing course. Or I’d sit individually with each of them and show them how to do their own repairs. But all my offers were refused. This one was too busy. She had no time. That one really, truly disliked sewing. One had “two-left-hands” and couldn’t get the hang of it (she’s the one who creates magnificent graphic designs; two left hands my foot!). Besides, it would only take me “a minute” (translate: half an hour minimum) to sew on a button or let down a hem or put up a cuff.
I did put my foot down at replacing zippers, especially in boy’s pants. I dislike zippers, especially if it means doing them by hand. My trusty sewing machine, purchased over fifty years ago, has been sitting in the basement of one of my kid’s homes since we moved ten years ago. It is wedged tightly under a sink, surrounded by boxes of forgotten valuables. The thought of moving all that junk to take it out and then transport the heavy cabinet back to our house and find a place to put it is daunting. So there it sits idling away while I sit at home and sew by hand. I have contemplated purchasing a new machine, but it seems silly if I already have a perfectly fine one. And with a new machine, I am afraid that requests for my sewing expertise will triple.
But as a philosophically-oriented luft-mensch who believes there is spiritual significance in everything we do, I therefore believe that my Repair Shop also allows me the opportunity to improve a particular middah – one of Rav Yisrael Salant’s thirteen highlights: zrizut – alacrity… brisk and cheerful readiness to perform all duties. When “merchandise” arrives at my house, even if I’ve been told to “take your time, there’s no rush,” I immediately get started and get it done. Otherwise it will hang around and clutter up my closet and my mind. I don’t need jeans, pajamas, shirts, skirts and sundry collections of buttons sitting around waiting for redemption. It’s easier to stop whatever else I’m doing, get this job out of the way and return it to its rightful owners. I’m never sure they actually wear the stuff I’ve fixed, but I’ve done my part. Now it can sit on their dressers or clutter up their closets!
Lest you think I am complaining, I am not. My repairs are truly a labor of love. And who knows? Maybe, since my sewing skills are in such demand and seem to be so indispensable to the people I love, perhaps my needles, scissors and threads are the instruments which will help guarantee me a long, busy life!
