Greetings Dear Ones!

Several of my dear customers have what I consider to be one of the hardest “side jobs” imaginable—the care of their elderly parents. For a few of them, this is a full-time, round-the-clock, round-the-night, round-the-bend endeavor. As one so articulately put it, “My biggest problem is that in order to keep up with them, I kind of have to think like them—to anticipate their next need or their next move (or movement)—so I have let a part of my brain turn to mush. I go at their pace, keep their schedule, talk with their words. To my horror, I notice I am now a fifty-something person behaving as though I am eighty. When I get around my own age group, I no longer switch back!”

Another, rushing back in to collect the shoes that her father had left behind, said “Is it me? Am I insane? I feel like I am losing not just shoes, but my mind!”

“No,” I tell her honestly. “It’s not you, it’s definitely them. They look like a lot of work and you are doing it beautifully. It’s filial piety at its best. Keep at it and remember to take care of yourself too. It’s a tough job to give all the time without losing yourself as well.”

She melts a little. I see her shoulders drop.

“Is this what having a baby is like?” she asks. “I never had kids, so I have no idea. But right now, I think I have two giant toddlers down there, wandering around the parking lot, arguing with each other and trying to get into a car that is not theirs, while here I am with the keys.”

“No,” I say. “Taking care of aging parents is not at all like having a baby. The chores are similar but the emotions are not at all. A child falling over as she figures out how to take her first steps is a joy; having a mother pretending she hasn’t pooped in her pants is not. Both require all the love and grit and patience you can muster. I’ll bet you feel absolutely wrecked at the end of each day.”

Her eyes fill with tears she brushes quickly away. “The saddest part is that I know this is only temporary and I don’t want it to end.”

On another day, a man slips a piece of paper across my table as I write up the instructions to my future self on how to mend his father’s clothing. I open it after they depart. It says “Thank you for treating Dad like a person.” Now I’m the one weeping…

I transition, as I must, to wedding gowns, sport coats, and hemming navy trousers. One school boy has eight pair. His mother is clever. She knows (as did Ringo Star) that from September until June, there are “eight days a week.” I turn up huge, three-and-a-half-inch hems and stitch them lightly with large, easy to remove stitches. This job is only temporary. This boy is of an age where he will eat the contents of the fridge on a daily basis and need everything let down again by December.

On the farm, the chickens are starting to molt and look ratty; they toss their knickers all over the coop. Their clothing transitions are as unflattering as mine, as we scramble into warmer gear that doesn’t fit yet. The Autumn Equinox is upon us and the encroaching darkness is an invitation to hurry at the chores. Due to a broken toe, I’ve been struggling to work the steers. I tie them up and groom them instead. When I finally get them back out on the road, I can barely stuff Gus’s chubby neck into his wooden bow. He has been eating like a schoolboy and his collar is tight. Still hungry, he and Otis keep bending down to lick the driveway. I find myself irritated by this constant distraction of theirs. What are they trying to eat? Leaves??? Where did all these leaves come from? I had not noticed until now that small black cherry leaves are leaving their summer hang—the first to begin the fall flutter. They are all over the driveway. I am asking these boys to walk over and ignore a delicious snack. They can’t manage it.

Suddenly, Change seems to be everywhere.

I look around at all the cow candy still on the trees. The Oaks and Maples are holding firm but blanching slightly. There is no “color” yet—except green. I pause and stare up at the tower of bark and branches above us. I am amazed to think of such a vast organism nourished by such individually insignificant things. One by one, they are nothing. Collectively, they have fed a giant, like so many individual cheerios going into a teenager. So it is with our tiny daily habits, our routines, our simple, unconscious choices that create a Life.

On the days when I wake up more than usually fizzled and frazzled, in a new season that is changeable, fitful, maddening as I am myself, when the days are choked with too many demands –I feel like a tiny leaf consumed by curious, unthinking cows. I wonder what is The Point in all this over-busy-fied, eternally temporary, Overwhelming Smallness that just leads to death and pooped undies?

Somewhere, at some cellular level, I understand that the very ordinary, mundane, small, and boring experiences are the gateway to what is Holy. But I need to remind myself, again. I pick up a single leaf and hold it up to the light. Gus sticks out his tongue, as if to receive Communion. In this final exhale of a single leaf, I behold what it means to belong to family, to community, to Decency and democracy. Everything is Connected. This is US, each of us—caring for our parents and children and oxen and friends, doing our little bits to be kind, to be civil and respectful, to remind each other that we are human, making sugar from sunlight to nourish and support a greater Whole, without which we would cease to be.

A woman comes in to have her coat sleeves hemmed. She’s not sure if she will even keep the coat or donate it to a local charity shop. I turn up the excess and leave it under the lining. It lends stability to the cuff, and maybe the next owner will be grateful. When possible, I do not make the changes permanent. How can we change if our choices have been cut?

Transitions are tricky. Sometimes we must endure hard phases of loss and growth. Sometimes we get choices, often we don’t. Nothing in this world is permanent—not monarchs, not parents or presidents, especially not seasons. Like hemlines and coat cuffs, we are designed for change. Ideals don’t. Value doesn’t. Kindness, steadfastness, humility and gentleness, Small Persistence over time—these are always the answers. Turbulence, Transitions, Violence—these are only ever questions. What will we do next?

My birthday is coming up. I am embracing the passage of Time, even though I know it might lead one day to my doing things that amuse, embarrass, or exhaust my children. (I can’t wait to get back at them for once telling a cashier ‘”Mummy gets to wear fancy Big-Girl pants because she does all her poops in the potty!”’) For now, I am going to live each day like it’s a chance to be a Summer leaf about to soar. I’m choosing a new Theme Song, a new slogan, and a new secret nickname for myself. I’m going to keep Mending. I might even Get Organized. (Ha! If I do, it will only be Temporary!)

Keep up your Good Work, Dear Ones! Nothing you do is too small. Thank you for reading, sharing, subscribing. I love you sew much!

Yours aye,

Nancy