On Paperclips, Staples, Scotch Tape & String

I got up this morning to find one of my fav shirts had succumbed to the growing hole I've been monitoring for the past few weeks. With every washing, I've wondered how long it will be til my 5 kidded stomach pokes unceremoniously through the worn spot. Today it finally happened.

I instinctively reached for my basket of repair items, not conventional needle and thread - because that's just too, well, difficult, labour intensive and conventional. Instead, I retrieved a safety pin, turned the shirt inside out and knitted the hole together with a steel rod. The result was less than presentable and I sadly admitted either I'd need to get professional help or turf the thing. I wore the shirt anyhow today, unpinned hole and all - one last time for old times sake.

I can't count how many times I've hemmed pants with scotch tape and staples, paper clipped belts from flopping loosely, or used string as shoelaces. The underside of me isn't nearly as presentable as the outside. I repair my holes, ripped hems and empty shoe grommets with innovative things I'm largely embarrassed to admit to.

I wonder how many of us go through life, literally & figuratively - hiding that we're held together with paper clips, scotch tape, staples & string? Could I possibly be the only one?

Sometimes I look at other people and imagine the stuff they're held together with is tent twine, or bungee cords or at the very least proper mending. And that their insecurities, foibles, or peculiarities are not nearly as likely as mine to bust open at the seams unanticipated. But o, there's something about an occasional busting of the seams that connects us intimately with one another and tears down the walls of social decorum.

Those inadvertent & embarrassed tears that spring up when we talk of hard earned hope. Or the joy that comes with finding an inexpensive figurine with outstretched arms and turned up head, that reflects a new inner freedom.

My dad used to give a daily report on the comical & intriguing ways of a family of birds on our clothesline. My brother became a farmer, sausage maker and spice-ologist this year. Another friend has embarked on a book. I stop my in car in wonder, transfixed by a burning rose bush speaking fire and god.

If you look hard enough, everyone is unique, strange and wonderful. Lovable in spite of their 'coolness' and especially because of their uncoolness. The paperclips, staples, scotch tape and string that hold us together, also bind us together with each other when we feel safe enough to be real...