Is old-school accomplishment the true accomplishment?

To my mom’s embarrassment, this week’s post is all about making your old socks look even older, straight from the 1850s.

In my favorite movie, Little Women, the backdrop of several scenes is the 4 sisters talking in the sitting room while darning. “Oh Darn!” was the closest I have ever been to this word, not helpful in any way.

Let’s just say it was a major letdown when I found out that my favorite characters would spend their lives fixing socks, of all things. The way I was raised, if something is broken, or old, you buy a new one. My mom would get really upset if she saw us wearing sweaters full of fuzz balls or ripped jeans, especially when it was intentional.

My dad was our trash/memory collector. He would go through the things we didn’t want anymore, separating old toys, wrapping them in plastic, and hiding them from my mom’s incinerator instincts. I guess when you listen to 70s nostalgic rock for so long it gets to you. To him, I owe my lifetime collection of memories.

While packing to return home, something even worse happened. I realized my travel, ladybug socks that cuddled me on countless flights had a hole. My aunt Lilian once told me that if my toe slipped through the opening it would gangrene and need an amputation.

Go on, laugh, say I believe in Santa Claus, but it won’t be my toe that I will have to cut off.

My wounded sock

This black hole of anxiety was still tiny, and my Tiffany blue toes would probably be ok for the next few wears, but the idea that it would grow and I would have to throw the socks away really bummed me. So.. sorry Mamis, here we go: I decided to darn them socks - like a pauper from the industrial revolution that could not afford new ones.

If I’m already doing this, I might as well make it intentional, picking a color that would stand out, abiding by Collingwood-Norris’ visible mending radical principles of being loud and proud of wearing stitched-up clothes.

My Pinterest board with darning references

First, I had to stretch the sock out, and as I did not have a wooden egg or tool, I just used my scissors, which were more or less the size of my feet. With the needle, I just went through the knit, until the hole was more or less covered, horizontally.

Once this was done, I went up and down, crisscrossing to form a little weave.

And this is what I ended up with. My work is far from perfect, but knowing that I fixed them up myself and that I get to keep these babies for a while longer is one of my proudest moments.

There is just something about the buzz you get after fixing something with your own hands. As a spectator, I thought darning was a sad, antifeminist way of passing time. Now, after this experiment, I believe it fueled Jo with spunk and Amy to travel the world looking for love.

Happiness lives in the little things and the little moments. Saving my socks and writing this anecdote down to close down my week. Shabbat Shalom.