At secondary school, I had the opportunity to choose between home economics and agricultural science. I chose the latter because I couldn’t stand sewing, anymore. For I had lived through the years of our governess’ teachings and passion for mending torn fabrics, by hand. I wanted none of it.
Instead I tended a garden and fiercely made sure no-one trampled on it. I was rather too happy with my success at warding off animal pests that I ignored the tiny weeds as insignificant. And so, it was with the sting of a nettle that I learned friends can simply detest your blooming tomatoes. Those were my youth days.
My father alluded to the fact that, “You don’t just sit in the shade and marvel at your garden. You have to pick up the hoe, and constantly do the work.” So, weeding became my pastime. But what does that have to do with the darning stitch?
In my adult life, I would learn that family too can simply resent your flipping blooming tomatoes. And that it’s still easy to be blindsided, more especially by unconventional conversations around you.
Looking back, it is the governess I owe a debt of gratitude. Because from time to time, I pick up the thread and needle, and mend holes in my heart.
note: This vignette is written for Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero; a Pantry of Prose, and a response to the prompt Stitches.
