She was born in 1922 in Winfield, AL, a small farm town outside of Jasper. A product of the Depression, she had this built-in compulsion to make do with what she had. Instead of buying new things, she made new things. She didn’t have money for store bought toys or clothes, but she did have the ingenuity and resourcefulness to create something from scraps. This gave rise to a gifted seamstress.
As far as family legend goes, she sewed multiple ornaments, curtains, pillows, dolls, blankets, quilts, and countless number of scarves, socks, gloves... This is not including all the clothes she made. And she sewed a lot of clothes: all of her own clothes, her children’s, grandkids, even the high-school cheerleader uniforms. My mom tells me she received a new dress every week or two, and she gives GaGa all the credit for being voted “best dressed” nearly every year at school.
Although my sister was never voted best dressed, she could have made the same claim. Every holiday break Vicki was scheduled for her annual wardrobe extravaganza. First, GaGa and Vicki would go window shopping- my sister would pick out all the clothes she wanted. Then back to the house where without as much as a photograph, GaGa created newspaper patterns from scratch. This was followed by Vicki standing statue still as GaGa pinned, pleated and pressed rolls of fabric around her. Experienced, nimble, thimble tough fingers were her only guide. I can still see my hummingbird of a grandmother flying from scissors to machine to pin cushion humming all the while. After three days of working, she finished. Hanging on the kitchen hutch, amongst a pile of cloth, were a half of a dozen dresses made to order, just like the ones in the window display. Maybe a little better.
As time wore on though, GaGa’s fingers lost their dexterity and exactitude and she stopped making new clothes. But she didn’t stop sewing. She mended anything she could get her hands on as though she could somehow hold together her unraveling mind and breaking body. I think she found comfort in the chore.
Since my grandmother’s death five years ago, I have found comfort in mending. I have come to relish the moments when I sit down and, somewhat clumsily, repair a torn shirt or reattach a button. I love the touch of the needle in my hand and how it pops through the fabric. I love the inexact art of weaving and the final threaded scar. The calm I feel from mending clearly exceeds the mere rescue of a piece of clothing. It is a communion with my roots. But, it is also a time to pause and quit running around trying to make figurative ends meet; it is a chance to sew actual pieces together. I can't stop a world of fighting, or reverse global warming, but I can mend things at hand. There is something about it that’s healing. Mending doesn't say, "This never happened." Instead it says, "Something or someone was surely broken here, but a saving grace offered it new life."
There are so many things that need mending: my old socks, the fence around the garden, the friendship torn by misunderstanding, a country being ripped apart by greed and social inequity. Some are easier to mend than others. A few of weeks ago I challenged the students here at Lipscomb Academy to find something to mend. To sew a button or patch a broken friendship. This Thanksgiving break I extend the challenge to our families. Take the time to turn off the TV and stitch together a real, face-to-face conversation. Hug your kids. Hug your neighbor. Hug your least favorite relative. Say your sorry and mean it. When we mend, I believe we realize that we're better together than apart, and perhaps even stronger for the rip and the repair.
Jonathan Sheahen
Elementary Principal
