Coming Apart at the Seams

Two days ago as I was working through the morning preparations to get myself ready for my workday, I stepped into my favorite pair of black slacks. These trousers are evocative of so many things for me: They were an accidental eBay find when I was "shopping" for something else entirely. I bid on a whim and celebrated when the email arrived that I had won the auction. I have loved them deeply ever since they arrived in the post from the UK. Purchased just months after our arrival in The Netherlands, they have been (up to this year) the one piece of dress up clothing in my closet. Generally relying on the mommy uniform of jeans and oversize t-shirts in my life at home with my youngest son, the trousers haven't seen too much action outside of the wardrobe. That's all right. Some things are meant to be kept precious. And untouched. My attire of choice worn to the important events and moments of the past two and a half years, these are the trousers which have a story, or several stories to tell. If I were to assign further meaning to this article of clothing, they remind me that sometimes, when you are not really looking for it you can find something perfect.

After pulling the zipper to the waistband top, I realized that I had a problem. Upon close inspection I saw that there was a slight gap between zipper and fabric; otherwise known as a hole. I cringed and then sighed as it came full view to my attention that there was a crisis on my hands.

Something was broken.

And it needed mending.

Normally, my response in crisis--and I mean real crisis--is swift and effective. Without a moment's hesitation I dive in to sort any mess or handle any conflict. But this crisis, this moment of a broken zipper in my favorite pair of pants made me pause, then gasp, then nearly fall apart. And in that split second of sagging shoulders, stomping feet and quiet utterance of several inappropriate grown up words I figured something out.

If it's worth it, I can fix it.

Moments later I sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed with needle and thread in hand. I ignored the crunch of time and examined the problem from every angle possible. Then I took it to task and closed the gap. It's not perfection in sewing. None of my skills really merit a title like that. But it is workable. And like many things once repaired, that spot which stood bare and open is strong and stable now.

I love these pants. I think it's safe to say they are going to stay with me for a long, long time.

We're good together.