Last week, my wife was busy doing laundry, which she claims is one of her favorite chores. Seriously, she actually likes doing laundry. I was working on the computer and I heard her calling me from the utility room. I went to see why I was being paged and found her sorting the laundry.
There were little mountains here and there of light and dark clothes. Back in my college days, it all got jammed into one washer at the Sudsy Dudsy. Regardless of color, everything went in together. But, I digress. Excuse me.
She was holding my favorite pair of warm, heavyweight socks. Her hand was stuffed into one and I could see her finger protruding through the heel. She said, "I think these need to go."
Now, not being the fashion statement in town, I get maximum wear out of everything. I asked her if she could patch the hole. "You mean darn them?" she asked with a smile on her face. I nodded in the affirmative and she replied, "Get real boy," and my socks were tossed in the ragbag.
To be honest, I wasn't really serious and was just pulling her leg a bit. I don't imagine that too many young people these days would even know how to darn a sock, let alone bother.
It's Mother's Day and this little exchange over the old socks reminded me of my dear mom. She was a Depression kid and had learned at an early age to fix and save things to make them last longer than their normal life expectancy. She had a sewing cabinet like the ones many seniors might remember from their childhood. It was a wooden cabinet with drawers that contained spools of thread, strange-looking metal hoops and odd collections of cloth, along with pins and needles that were stuck in a pincushion resembling a tomato.
I loved to poke around in that cabinet looking for things that might be useful for building model airplanes. Oh yes, there was this strange wooden thing, shaped like an egg, mounted on the end of a handle. This was called a darning egg, which was used to "darn" or patch holes in socks and other articles of clothing.
In the evening, after kitchen chores were done, my mom and dad would often sit in our living room and listen to the radio. It was a big floor model with a glowing dial that showed which frequency we were tuned to. If it was a family program, like "Gunsmoke" or Jack Benny, the entire family would gather around.
Mom would be sitting on the couch, her sewing basket beside her. In it was an odd collection of socks that had one thing in common -- they all had a hole that needed mending. Mom would choose a darning thread that best matched the color of the sock she was about to repair. After stretching the sock over the darning egg, she would begin the mending process by weaving a patch. This was a time-consuming chore and it usually took one radio show per sock. She always claimed that it relaxed her after a busy day. She referred to it as "hand work."
Mom took pride in the fact that none of us ever went to school or work with holes in our socks or underwear. I hope that this little glimpse into my past brings back a special memory of your mom. If she is still with you, give her a call or take her out for dinner on her special day.
By the way, don't wear your holey socks when you do!
Ed Hungness and his wife owned their cottage on Fife Lake for six years before moving there after his retirement in 2005. His writing draws from life experiences, fond childhood memories and a love for the outdoors and northern Michigan. He can be reached at edhungness@yahoo.com or care of the Record-Eagle.
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